


The Pirate and The Piper

by jacaranda_bloom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Bottom Louis, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Escape, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy, Flirting, Flying, Harry as Hook, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Lost Boys, Louis as Pan, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, Peter Pan AU, Pirate Harry, Pirates, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Spanking, Supernatural Creatures, Top Harry, barebacking (because this is a fantasy world and condoms don't exist okay?), hidden identities, minor character death (but she's evil and not human and we hate her), parallel worlds, some violence (but not graphic), spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacaranda_bloom/pseuds/jacaranda_bloom
Summary: Banished from Neverland by Captain Hook and the evil Siren Minerva, Louis is forced to live in the Other World. He makes a life for himself, resigned to the fact he’s never going to see his beloved home and Lost Boys again. Five years later he’s kidnapped and returned to Neverland, only to discover a far worse fate awaits him. But with an unlikely ally by his side, can he overcome those who seek his demise and restore freedom to his homeland?Or the one where Harry is Hook, Louis is Pan, and nothing is what it seems.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 82
Kudos: 298
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Make sure you check out all the other great fics in the collection which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bottom_Louis_Fic_Fest_2020/)!
> 
> I knew from the first moment I read the prompt (see end notes) that this was a story I had to write, so a huge shoutout to Hayley ([bruisedhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedhoney/pseuds/bruisedhoney/)) for writing the prompt that inspired me to go on this journey, and for cheering me on along the way!
> 
> Massive thank you to the wonderfully talented Isa, [ whenthebodiesspeak](https://whenthebodiesspeak.tumblr.com/), for her beautiful artwork that compliments this story so perfectly. You're a star and I appreciate you so much.
> 
> And finally, thank you to Rebecca. My rock, my best friend, my cheerleader, without whom this story would never have made it. Love you loads. xx
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome - they make me so happy and I appreciate them greatly.

The crisp morning bites at Louis’ face and fingers as he covers the short distance from the car park to the cafe, boots echoing his footsteps against the stone walls of the surrounding shopfronts. The pinkish-blue skies are dotted with white cotton-wool-ball clouds and hint at a bright spring day ahead, sure to bring a busy, tourist-filled day for their little cafe.

He nods a good morning to Clyde as he passes by, his van parked up on the curb, doors open to reveal piled-high bundles of vibrantly coloured flowers and lush green foliage, newly acquired from the markets and on their way to becoming bouquets for today’s customers.

The bell jingles a familiar welcome as he steps over the threshold of the cafe, the aroma of strong coffee and baked goods wafting around and enveloping him in a warmth he’s come to know so well over the last five years. He flips the sign on the door to _Open_ as Liam’s dulcet tones drift out from the kitchen, singing along to some unidentified tune. Louis smiles to himself as he heads behind the counter and sets down his shoulder bag, shucking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook on the far wall between the fridge and coffee machine. “Morning, Li!”

“Hey, Lou. Be there in a sec. Scones are nearly done.”

Louis grabs a fresh apron from the pile under the servery, tying it around his waist and starting his front-of-shop routine. The coffee machine is warmed up as always, Liam needing a good few shots to get him going for his early-bird shift at the ovens. He fills the grinder and turns it on, their special blend of roasted beans churning to a fine consistency as he slides his laptop out of his bag and fires it up.

He loves it here at The Sugar Spot, tucked into a laneway just on the edge of Inverness and along one of the popular walking tours that crisscross the city. They get a good passing trade of tired tourists looking for a decent coffee as well as plenty of patronage from the surrounding businesses. It’s a simple existence but one he relishes and has embraced wholeheartedly since his arrival.

He’d met Liam on his first day and he still sends up a silent prayer every now and then for his good fortune. Cold and hungry and a bit overwhelmed, he’d wandered past the cafe and seen the help wanted sign in the window. Louis may have had little to no experience but Liam, bless him, had been in dire need of assistance and had agreed to try him out. The entire day went by in a blur, but by closing time he had a job, a new friend and a small room to stay in above the shop until he got on his feet. A few months later Louis had enough money to rent a flat of his own and three years after that he’d saved enough to buy a share in the business. He’ll be forever grateful for Liam’s kindness that day and for putting his faith in a complete stranger; his decision changing both of their lives in ways neither of them could have imagined.

The smell of freshly baked goods precedes Liam’s appearance in the doorway, the sweet smell of pumpkin and sugar assaulting Louis’ senses and making his stomach grumble on cue. He turns to find a beaming Liam with a large tray of mouth-watering treats; glazed doughnuts, strawberry tarts, sugared brandy snaps, and Louis’ favourite coffee accompaniment, Liam’s delicious pumpkin scones. 

“Ahhhhh, my saviour. Reckon my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,” Louis says as he pulls open the display cabinet for Liam to slide the tray in.

“Put some extra spice in this batch, just the way you like it.”

“I love you very much a lot, Lima Bean,” Louis says and reaches for one of the scones in the back row.

Liam slaps his hand away. “Oi! They’re for paying customers. Yours are coming.”

“Fine,” Louis grumps out as he goes back to the machine to warm the milk for his coffee. He fills the stainless steel jug and brings it up under the steamer immersing the nozzle inside. The familiar high-pitched sound of the machine working its magic fills the cafe as he swirls it around with practised ease, bringing it to a stop just before the milk boils and setting it aside to rest. He scoops some of the ground beans into the portafilter and slots it into the coffee machine, lining up his cup and flicking on the switch for the boiling water to do its job.

The dastardly machine had terrified him in the first few days, so foreign and noisy, but like everything else, he’d learned fast. He’d also quickly learned that this weird drink was something that people took very seriously; lattes and cappuccinos and macchiatos and double shots, warm milk and cold milk and no milk, soy and almond and full cream, raw sugar, white sugar, sweetener and vanilla and caramel and honey. So many different variations that it had made his head spin. He understands now, of course, he’d barely function without his morning hit, and he’s grown very particular about how his own coffee is made; a double shot latte with full-cream milk, no sugar, and a squirt of caramel syrup. Perfect. 

Liam returns with Louis’ plate of pumpkin scones just as he finishes making his coffee—impeccable timing as always—and they set themselves up at the table by the window to sort through some invoices and orders. A few regulars pop in to grab coffees and breakfasts to go, chatting about general happenings around the area and the busy summer tourist season which is almost upon them.

“And I was thinking we could start doing pre-made sandwiches and wraps so we can get through the walking tours faster,” Liam says as he taps his pen on his notepad. “We’ve got some downtime before the crowds start to come through just before lunch.”

“Yeah, I like that idea. Maybe get some small recyclable cardboard lunch boxes with the clear plastic windows on the top?”

“Yes! Awesome,” Liam agrees and jots down another note.

A flash of gold catches Louis’ eye and he turns to look out the window. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

Louis is sure there was something there, just for an instant, but whatever it was, it’s gone now. “I don’t… I thought I saw something but it… never mind,” he says, brows furrowed as he turns back to his laptop, bringing up the website for their packaging supplier to see about the boxes.

The walking tour groups come and go in waves and, by mid-afternoon, their display cases are all but empty. Louis is tired, feet aching from standing and serving most of the day, but the takings are excellent so it’s a good kind of tired, a purposeful kind of tired, one that gives him the satisfaction that only comes from an honest day's work.

Liam had finished doing the prep for the morning’s baking and headed off, leaving Louis to attend to the remaining trickle-in of customers seeking out a quick fix of caffeine to get them through the rest of the day or to pick up some sweet treats to take home.

Liam had come into baking by chance, not dissimilar to Louis’ own path, stumbling into it when he was desperate for a job and had no demonstrable skills to secure a career. He’s never spoken too much about what landed him in those circumstances and Louis knows next to nothing about Liam’s past other than he’s an orphan who spent his childhood and teens in care, in and out of various foster homes and residential institutions. While they’ve never really talked about it, it’s easy to see how it’s shaped him as a person. Many would’ve seen nothing but bad in the world and rebelled as a result, but he made a conscious decision to follow another road and instead, Liam is kind and empathetic, generous to a fault, and willing to give others a chance where many would simply dismiss them, much like he did with Louis on that first day. Louis knows he must’ve looked like a wreck; ratty clothes, scared and weary after what he’d been through. But Liam had looked past all of that and seen Louis for what he was; someone who just needed a chance, a small ray of hope, a friend. 

The bell tinkles and Louis looks up to see Clyde wandering in, his weathered face already beaming with his trademark smile. He comes in at the same time every day after he’s packed up his van and is ready to head off for the day, selecting some pastries to take home to Beryl. They’ve been married for over forty years, high school sweethearts at a time when that’s what you did; fall in love, get married, and live out your days together. 

Louis wants that, he does, a partner to share his life with, someone to come home to, to open up his heart and love unconditionally. But his past haunts him, niggles away and makes him put up walls to protect himself, to shield him from the questions he can’t answer.

“Hey, Clyde.”

“Good afternoon, Louis. Busy day?”

“Mmmm… tourists are ramping up. Nearly summertime.”

“Aye, it is,” Clyde says as he stops in front of the display case and eyes what pastries are left. “What delectable treats do you have for me and the good woman tonight?” 

“Well, we’ve got some cinnamon scrolls and some chocolate croissants and I’m fairly certain Liam set aside a couple of strawberry tarts, just in case you wanted them.”

“Did he now!” Cycle says and claps his hands together. “Good lads. Always looking after me. I think I’ll take those then.”

“Coming right up,” Louis says and heads out the back. He rounds the corner and opens the fridge, the cool gust of air making him shiver as he takes the small box out. He’s about to close the door when he senses something behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. He spins around in fright but there’s nothing there, just the back door knocking against the wall. But there was something. He can feel it. Like a moment of deja vu, but it’s gone too quickly for Louis to grab a hold of the memory. He walks over to the door and peers outside into the empty laneway. Silence. Maybe it was just the wind playing tricks on him?

Shaking his head, he shuts the door and double checks the lock before making his way back out to Clyde, who is waiting patiently for his tarts.

“Here you go then,” Louis says as Clyde hands over the cash. “I hope Beryl enjoys them.”

“She’ll love them. One of her favourites,” Clyde says with a wink. “Have a good night, lad.”

“You too. Give your lovely wife my best,” Louis says as he follows Clyde to the door and sees him off, flipping the sign on the door to _Closed_ and starting on his cleaning duties.

He works away contentedly, a pan pipes playlist filling the space. For a long time he hadn’t been able to bear listening to his beloved pipes, the memories too painful, and he’s never dared to seek out an instrument to play. But now, with a bit of time to heal the wounds of his loss, he finds comfort in the wistful melodies, a soothing balm to his soul as he allows himself to remember his past with fondness, instead of sadness.

He finishes his cleaning jobs not long after the sun sets, packing up his things and flicking off the lights. Louis locks the door of the cafe behind him and starts off down the footpath toward his car. The street is empty save for the lights coming from the pub a few doors down, the muted sounds of chatter and soft music permeating the otherwise quiet night air. As he flips up the collar of his coat to stave off the chill, something flashes out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head but it’s too late, whatever it was is gone. He walks on, that weird feeling of deja vu he’s had throughout the day returning and sitting uneasily in his gut. 

His beat-up Citroen comes into view, its old, silver panels shining under the lamplight. It isn’t much to look at, but he’s fond of it nonetheless. It had taken a lot to get it roadworthy after he bought it, but it was his first major purchase once he got on his feet and settled in his little flat, so it means a lot to him. 

“Hey there, old girl,” he says in greeting as he slides the key into the lock. “Long day out here in the sunshine?”

He hears shuffling behind him and freezes briefly before his fight or flight reflex kicks into action, spinning around, hands raised defensively but it’s too late. A mist of golden dust hits his face, muscles going taut and vision blurring before he falls limply to the ground.

“Sorry, Lou. I’m so sorry,” a faraway—and very familiar—voice says as the blackness drags him under.

Before he succumbs completely, he manages to squeak out a single word. “Tink.”

~~*~~

Louis tries to squint his eyes open but there’s a pounding in his head, so he decides against that immediate course of action. Did he go out last night? He remembers leaving the shop and walking to his car and then-

His eyes fly open, groaning at the pain that sears through his skull. As his vision starts to clear, he tries to focus on the ceiling above, except it isn’t a ceiling, not by normal standards. Gnarly roots and compacted earth take the place of plaster or tiles, confusion running rampant in his foggy brain.

He stretches his arms and legs, movement impeded by a heavy weight as he rolls onto his side. The room is bright, sunshine casting dusty beams of light across the wooden floors. It looks like… no, it can’t be. Louis gasps and sits bolt upright as the rest of the room reveals itself. He’s home. But not the home he’s come to know over the last five years. This is the home he never thought he’d see again, when he was ripped from it and banished to the Other World.

He takes it all in, from the mismatched chairs around the small table made of old crates and tree branches to the lemon curtains, frayed at the edges, that cover the paneless window openings. The knick-knacks and trinkets salvaged from shipwrecks sit on the makeshift shelving that’s embedded into the earthen walls, many of which he’d found and placed there himself.

He scrubs his hands down his face. Surely he’s dreaming. He can’t actually be here. He’s not _allowed_ to be here. Five years ago, he’d been forced to say goodbye to this place, to everything and everyone he knew and loved, cast out with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a heavy heart. But somehow, by some bizarre miracle, he’s here.

He lifts the threadbare blanket covering his body and swings his legs out, the dirt-covered floors crunching under his socked feet, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the realization that the boys haven’t improved their housekeeping routine since his departure. Striding over to the window, he pulls back the curtain to peer outside. Inhaling a deep breath, the sweet smell of the forest and ocean mixes together and buries itself in his lungs. _God_. He’s missed this so much. 

The overgrown foliage of the trees obscures much of the view but there’s no mistaking where he is. He can make out the other treehouses in the cluster across the way, even through the dense canopy, and onto the harbour beyond, the deep blue water glistening in the sunshine as the swell rocks the few boats moored in its protected waters.

He glances down at the sound of children playing but he can’t see them, just their lilting voices travelling up high into the treetops.

“I _said_ , I’m gonna go and check on him, for fucks sake,” a familiar voice shouts from outside and Louis turns to see the owner stomp into the treehouse and stop dead in his tracks. “Jesus fucking bollocks. You’re awake then?”

“Well, hello to you too, Tink,” Louis says in reply, hands on his hips, feet splayed shoulder-width apart, and chin raised in challenge.

“God. Fuck. Shit.”

“I’d forgotten how much you swear,” Louis says with a wry smile as Tink takes off at a run and barrels into him, the air knocked from Louis’ lungs, arms reflexively wrapping around his old friend. “Oof. Steady on, mate.”

“Fuck. Pan. I mean, Lou,” Tink says into his neck, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. “I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too, Tink. And you can call me Pan. It’s fine,” Louis says as Tink pulls back, tears welling in his eyes. 

“No, it’s not,” another familiar voice says from the doorway. “We all go by our other names now. We’re not kids anymore.” Tink grimaces and Louis looks over his shoulder to find a surly-looking Zee leaning against the wall. 

“Nice to see you too, Zee,” Louis says with a curt nod.

“It’s Zayn,” he snaps, striding over and sitting on top of the table, planting his feet on a chair and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“What? No hug? No welcome back party?” Louis asks Zayn snidely, earning himself a huff from the brooding man before turning his attention back to Tink, or rather, Niall apparently. “So, it’s Niall now?”

Niall nods his head. “Yeah. We’ve been going by our _proper_ names for a while now,” he says with an eye roll, carefully hidden from Zayn’s line of sight.

An awkward silence stretches out between the three men as Louis waits for one of them to explain what the fuck he’s doing here, but neither of them speaks.

“Alright. So anyone care to explain what the fuck is going on and why I’m back here?”

Niall suddenly finds his feet very interesting and he slinks over to the table and sits down, hands steepled in his lap and lip bitten nervously between his teeth.

Louis resumes his stance, this time with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He glares at Zayn who meets his gaze, unwavering and defiant. “We cut a deal,” Zayn says simply like that explains everything.

“Yeah. I’m familiar with the _deal_ , mate,” Louis spits back. “Trust me. I’ve been living the result said _deal_ for the last five years or were you so far up your own arse that you didn’t notice I was gone?”

Right from the start, theirs had been a difficult relationship, similar in too many ways that they had butted heads, quite literally on more than one occasion, but deep down they loved each other like brothers.

A flicker of hurt flashes over Zayn’s face before he steels himself once more. “No. We cut a new deal. A different one.”

Louis furrows his brows, glancing between Zayn and Niall for some indication of what this new deal might entail but receives nothing in return.

Louis’ patience is wearing thin, he’s tired and his head is still thumping after whatever Niall had done to him last night to knock him out. “Can one of you tell me what the hell is going on before I have to beat it out you?”

Niall looks at Zayn, eyes pleading for him to respond, a heavy measure of guilt in his expression and that doesn’t bode well.

Zayn shifts, leaning his elbows on his knees as he wrings his hands. He seems so much older than what Louis remembers, weary, and like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“Where are the rest of the boys?” Louis asks.

“Hook has them,” Zayn states, hands white-knuckling.

Louis’ eyes go wide at Zayn’s admission. “What? But the deal was-“

“Yeah. I know,” Zayn interrupts, sighing heavily. “The deal was that the Siren Minerva stripped you and Niall of your magic, you got banished to the Other World forever, and we got a truce. No more fighting. But… Minerva and Hook reneged a few months ago. It’s been bad, Lou. Real bad. They’ve got all the other Lost Boys on the ship. Prisoners. We don’t even know if they’re alright.”

Louis takes in the enormity of what’s been said, brain going into overdrive as he lets the news settle over him. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit’s about right,” Zayn says and finally meets his gaze. “We… we’ve been fighting hard but we’re no match for them... not without you,” he concedes, and his look tells Louis that it’s a bitter pill for him to swallow. 

Zayn had always been his right hand, even with their differences, always there to protect him and the other boys until the bitter end. And it _was_ bitter. Louis had wanted to keep battling Hook and his crew of pirates and ruffians, but Zayn had been the one to rally the boys and convince Louis to strike the deal with Minerva and Hook. To end the fighting. To try and gain some semblance of peace. Louis had fought him on it, had tried to sway them, but in the end, he’d given in and succumbed to his fate when it was clear he wasn’t going to win them over. Hook had been thrilled, smirking at him and making him beg on his fucking knees on the filthy deck of his ship like the sick, twisted bastard that he’d become.

Hook hadn’t always been that way, of course. There was a time, when they were younger, when the fighting was harmless, playful even, when it was more a game than anything else. But after Minerva arrived, things had shifted. The fighting became more heated, more purposeful and leading to outcomes Louis wasn’t proud of. People had been hurt, no loss of life thankfully, but hurt nonetheless. 

It’s clear now that the deal had been a mistake, a pointless pain he’d had to endure, and the anger rages in Louis’ chest at his loss. “So it was all for nothing then? Things are just as they were and now you’ve dragged me back here to fix the mess you’ve created. Is that it?”

“Lou, it’s not like that...” Niall looks up, tears glistening in his eyes as he shakes his head. “You don’t know what it’s been like. Zayn’s done everything he could but things have changed. Hook has changed. It’s like he’s not even himself anymore, the crew too.”

Louis is surprised at Niall’s defence of the situation, and of Zayn, and he wonders exactly how bad it’s gotten.“Really? You’ve done everything you could?” Louis asks Zayn accusingly. 

“Fuck you, man,” Zayn snarls and jumps down from the table, storming out of the treehouse and disappearing from view.

Louis stands there, feet glued to the spot, muscles vibrating with the effort to hold himself back and not run after him. “What’s his fucking problem?”

“Lou, come on. It’s not his fault,” Niall says placatingly. “I mean it when I say it’s been hard. Things have been-“

“Bad? Yeah, so you said,” Louis says with a huff, not yet willing to cut Zayn any slack but Niall is a different story. He’s always been there for him, the events of the past day or so notwithstanding. He makes his way over to the table and sits down across from him, the rickety chair creaking under his weight. “Alright. Tell me then.”

Niall sighs, long and low, the exhaustion evident on his features now that Louis sees him up close. He catalogues the man before him; tired eyes, sunken cheeks, healed scars on his arms and a fairly fresh one on the side of his neck too, a red tinge in the centre surrounded by purplish skin. The thick, curly hair on his chest peeks out from his well-worn white tank top, dirt under his fingernails and bruising on his knuckles presumably from a recent scuffle, matching some similarly coloured marks on his biceps and the bottom of his chin.

“Things were okay for a while... after you left,” Niall starts, not looking up. “They seemed to be satisfied with the deal, the truce. It was shitty not having you here, of course, but at least it was a bit more peaceful. But then…” Niall glances up and Louis nods encouragingly for him to continue. “Then there were a few incidents. Attacks on the farms. Crops burned. Animals going missing and that kind of thing. Nothing that we could directly say was Hook and his crew but we suspected. Then Shawn disappeared,” Niall says, voice hitching. “He was the first one. Then Steve was attacked down at the beach. He managed to escape and confirmed our worst fears. The truce was broken and things heated up from there.”

“Fuck. That’s-“

“Not what was agreed. I know. It escalated further and more Lost Boys were captured, more attacks. Then it started on the rest of the village. Treehouses set ablaze, people kidnapped. We can’t fight anymore because we just don’t have the numbers. It’s….” Niall trails off, shoulders slumping. “We’re beaten.”

“Why am I here Niall? If we’ve got no fighting force, I’m never going to be enough. I don’t even have my magic anymore.”

“Hook arranged a meeting. Him and Minerva, and me and Zayn. He said he’d stop if we brought you back. Said he’d exchange everyone for-“

“Me?” Louis gapes at him. So they’ve brought him back to be a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. Perhaps not a literal slaughter, although that’s certainly a possibility, but an unpleasant incarceration for sure. 

Niall nods, tears spilling over his cheeks. He slumps forward, scrubbing at the skin harshly, angrily, like he doesn’t want to give the universe the satisfaction of seeing him cry. “Sorry, Lou. I’m so sorry,” he says, gaze drifting down to his lap, the words eerily familiar from when he’d uttered them the previous evening. 

Louis just sits there, trying to process the implications of what Niall has said. So this is his lot then, bargained for an uncertain peace once more, except this time instead of simply being banished, he’ll likely be a prisoner in the galley of Hook’s ship forever or made to walk the plank. It’s not a fate he welcomes, but if it will end the fighting and deliver some modicum of peace, then it’ll be worth it.

“Okay,” Louis says with a slow nod.

Nail snaps his head up. “What?”

“I mean, okay. How are we doing this? Do I just swim out there? Row a fucking boat? What’s the plan?”

“You’ll do it?”

“Doesn’t seem like I’ve got much of a choice,” Louis says with a shrug. “The deal has been struck. I don’t want the blood of any of the others on my hands. If my surrender will save them, then that’s what has to happen. I did it before, I’ll do it again.”

“You’re the bravest man I know,” Niall says in awe.

“Dunno about that,” Louis says dismissively. “But to be honest, I’d like to get it over with. No point drawing out the inevitable. So, what’s the plan?”

“Uhm… This evening, at sunset. We’re to meet them at the beach. They’ll bring the prisoners and we swap them for you.”

“Wow,” Louis says on a long exhale. “No time like the present then. Sounds simple enough, I guess. How many of ours do they have?”

“Sixteen at last count. All the other boys, plus some villagers.”

“Shit. That’s… _fuck_ ,” Louis says, slumping back into his chair.

He lets his mind digest the information as Niall fidgets in his seat, darting his eyes away as if he can't bear to look at him. He has just told Louis is going to be imprisoned for the foreseeable future though, so a bit of unease is probably warranted.

A wave of energy thrums through Louis’ body, suddenly struck with the urge to make the most of his last hours of freedom. He gets to his feet, startling Niall who looks up as Louis brushes down the front is his t-shirt in a vain attempt to smooth out the creases.

“You know. You could've just asked me to come, instead of knocking me out. I have people there. People who care about me who are going to be worried sick that I’ve just up and disappeared.”

“Shit. I didn’t think-“

“No. No, you didn’t. Liam has probably already lodged a bloody missing persons report. He would’ve found my car with the keys in the door, abandoned, my flat empty. He’ll be beside himself.”

“Who’s Liam?”

“My best mate and my business partner. We own a cafe together. Or _owned_. I guess it’s his now.”

“Oh, I’m-“

“Yeah. You’re sorry, I know.”

Louis walks back over to the bed and sits down, picking up his boots.

“W-where are you going?” Niall asks, nervousness evident in his words.

“Don’t worry. I’m not running away. I’ll be back. Just need some air and sunshine,” Louis offers, a hint of a snipe in his tone as his heels slot into the boots.

“I didn’t mean… never mind. Want some company?”

“No thanks,” Louis says as he slips on his hoodie, having layered up for the weather the previous day, which he’s now glad of.

He bends forward and ties up his laces as a pair of bare feet come into his line of sight. He looks up to find Niall tentatively holding out a piece of bread and an apple. “Thought you might be hungry,” he says, seeming so timid and young. Louis is a few years older than him but the age gap seems much wider as they eye each other. Louis stands, taking the offered items and slipping them into his pocket before sighing and reaching out, pulling Niall into a tight embrace.

“Hey. It’s alright, you know. They’re just bastards. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Louis assures him as he holds him close, Niall’s chest heaving as he cries into Louis’ neck, tears dampening his skin.

“I’m just… so s-sorry. I fucking hate them.”

“I’m in touch with that emotion,” Louis says, his lame attempt at humour trying to lighten the mood.

He catches another person in his peripheral vision and turns to find Zayn in the doorway looking sheepish. “So you know then?”

Louis releases Niall and turns to face Zayn. “Yeah. Niall’s caught me up.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Zayn says, the pain of what they’ve been through etched on his face. He’s always been a bit of a rake, hardly any meat on his bones but always strong, with sinewy muscles as a confident stance. Now though, he seems like a shell of the man Louis remembers; hunched over, hair limp, bony hands and thin forearms wrapped around his small waist.

Louis walks over, pulling him into a hug and earning a surprised gasp in response. Zayn tenses briefly before sinking into Louis’ arms as Niall comes up behind them and joins the hug. The tears well up in Louis’ eyes but he doesn’t let them fall. He needs to be strong for them all. “Hey, it’s okay. It must’ve been a hard decision,” Louis soothes. “I don’t blame you.”

Zayn just keeps chanting his apologies like they’re the only words he can muster. Over and over again as he sobs, clinging onto Louis like he never wants to let him go. He lets them both cry, lets their emotions run freely and openly until their bodies are no longer wracked with the heaviness of the moment.

He pulls back and wipes away Zayn’s tears. “Thank you,” Zayn says earnestly. “Thank you for agreeing to this… this madness.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say in response so he just pulls Zayn down by the back of his neck and kisses him on the forehead. “I’m gonna go for a walk for a bit but I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

Zayn nods and Niall squeezes his shoulders before Louis steps around Zayn and heads out of the door. 

The sun shines down through the canopy as he goes across the rope bridge and down the steps built into the hillside. It’s a path he’s taken countless times and the familiarity is strange, like he’s in the middle of a dream and any moment he’ll wake up back in his little flat ready to go to The Sugar Spot and hang out with Liam and Clyde and all the other regulars. For some reason, it’s that thought that has his breath hitching and vision blurring with tears. He steels himself as he chokes back a sob and steps down onto the ground, making his way along the lesser used track and out into the open fields, not wanting to see anyone else on his journey.

The walk to the lookout isn’t that far but once he’s past the burnt out crops it’s steep, and his fitness levels aren’t what they used to be. When he was here on the island, every day was a physical one, a far cry from the more sedentary life he led in the Other World, so by the time he reaches his destination he’s out of breath.

He sits down on his rock, high above the harbour, a place he’s spent an incalculable amount of hours, and takes out the bread and apple, letting himself drink in the view.

Louis bites into the shiny red apple, the tangy juice dripping off his lips as the early afternoon sun warms his tired limbs. The harbour is still, the tide mostly out and protected by the coast that wraps around the deep water. He thinks back to some of the skirmishes he and Hook have had over the years, during simpler times when it was more the thrill of the chase and the catch-and-release than anything resembling a true battle. They’d been fun. A lark mostly. Besting each other, trickery and banter, oneupmanship and innocent thievery, more hide-and-go-seek than bloodshed and imprisonment.

He wonders where things went wrong. Was it just Minerva? Her arrival a year or so before Louis was banished had certainly changed the playing field. Hook had found her on one of their voyages to far-flung places that Louis has never travelled; strange lands with strange customs and even stranger beings. Her magic was not of great concern, at least not at first, but it seemed to intensify with every passing day and soon they had been overwhelmed. Hook and his pirate crew had changed too. They became meaner, harsher, fighting with purpose and seeking outcomes with actual casualties.

It’d been one such battle when Louis had found himself cornered, bailed up against a stack of barrels in the galley of Hook’s ship, the Jolly Roger, with nowhere to run and no way to fly free. Hook had set upon him with fire in his vacant eyes, a fierce sword fight ensuing and all it had taken was an unexpected tilt of the ship as his sword came down for things to be altered forever. Louis had escaped with all his limbs intact, but Hook hadn’t fared so well; his missing left hand a permanent reminder of that fateful day.

Louis chucks the apple core into the bushes off to the side causing a pair of starlings to take flight and soar into the air. They circle above for a moment, gliding on the breeze before swooping down toward the harbour. Louis tracks their path and a wave of dread washes over him when he sees it. The Jolly Roger rounds the tip of the harbour, sailing menacingly toward Louis; his soon-to-be prison. A chill runs through his body and he shivers in response. It’s just as he remembers it, tall masts, canon holes on both sides, and the skull and crossbones flag raised at the rear.

He gets to his feet and shoves the chunk of bread back in his pocket, his appetite having left him. Taking a last look at the ship he sighs and jumps down from his rock, beating a path back to the treehouse, albeit at a slower pace.

The sun is dropping in the sky but he guesses he still has an hour before the handover, so he absorbs as much of this wondrous place as he can. From the brightly coloured birds that flit in and out of the low brush, to the tall trees that sway in the breeze. It’s so beautiful here. He’d forgotten how magical it was.

He’d missed his own magic at first, after the spell was cast by the Minerva. The vile look of pleasure on her haunting features and her unsettling, black eyes as she said the words was something that had filled his nightmares during his early months in the Other World. But they’d dulled over time as he’d let this life go and embraced his new existence.

Niall had been tasked with taking him to Other World, his final trip, or so it had been stated at the time. Minerva had cast the banishment spell, stripped Louis of his magic and, upon Niall’s return, he’d be stripped of his own magic, meaning that no others from Neverland could return. Louis can only presume that part of the new deal they’d struck meant that she had reversed the spell temporarily so he could bring Louis back.

Minerva is pure evil, plain and simple. A beast from the depths of the ocean that rises to wreak havoc on those poor souls she sets her sights on. Hook and his minions had taken her fancy, being of the same ilk and Louis had often found himself in her crosshairs but his magic, quick reflexes, and cunning had saved him on all but one occasion. 

That final battle had seen them overwhelmed. Ambushed when they’d snuck in under darkness to retrieve a stolen crate of goods that Hook’s crew had taken from them the previous day. But it was a trap. They’d been set upon and Louis had found himself unable to escape; Minerva having bewitched his magic and rendered it useless. The others were captured too and thrown in the cell off the galley while Louis was dealt with on deck. He’d tried to negotiate with Hook, but it was like he wasn’t even there, his body a mere shell with no soul inside. 

Minerva floated the deal, and then Louis was thrown into the galley with the rest of the Lost Boys. They had an hour to make their decision; banishment for Louis, or continued fighting, imprisonment and misery for them all. The discussion had been heated, coarse words flung around, tears shed in anguish at the impossible choice, but in the end, Zayn had convinced the others and Louis’ fate was sealed. 

Zayn and Niall are inside waiting for him when he returns, sitting at the small table and murmuring to each other. They turn as he walks in, ceasing their conversation.

“Hook’s in the harbour,” Louis announces in lieu of a greeting and lays down on the bed, feet hanging off the edge as he stares up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah. We saw,” Zayn says, a finality in his voice that mirrors Louis’ own resignation.

Louis lets his eyes drift closed, heavier than they should be given the time of day, but he goes with it anyway. He hasn’t realised he’s dozed off until he’s awoken with a start by shadows above him. He blinks awake and finds Niall and Zayn standing over him. Niall looks sheepish, eyes darting from Louis to the space beside him. Louis rolls on his side to make room and Niall climbs onto the bed, slotting himself in front like he always used to do when they were younger.

Zayn doesn’t move, just fists his hands at his sides. Louis rolls his eyes and shuffles closer to Niall. “Go on then,” Louis says, making just enough room for Zayn to squeeze in behind him.

Zayn crawls over and slides his arm under Louis’ head, his warm breath tickling the hairs on the back of Louis’ neck.

“Missed this,” Niall says and lets out a satisfied sigh, tugging Louis’ arms tighter around his middle.

It’s a familiar scene, the three of them tucked up together for warmth and comfort like they’ve done on countless occasions before. This time though, the comfort isn’t just physical. This time they’re soothing each other’s hearts as well, reassuring one another that even though things will never be like this again, they’ll always be there for each other in spirit, if not in person.

They share memories of the good times, the fun times, the times when they thought they were invincible and their lives would be lived together, forever. Louis tells them about Liam and his time in the Other World, about The Sugar Spot, about Clyde and Beryl and all the other businesses owners in their little laneway. Stories of the tourists and the weird array of coffees Louis had learned to make, his car and his flat and how he had wanted to get a cat. All of it.

The boys tell tales of their adventures while Louis was gone, doing everything they can to keep it light; Shawn and his obsession with finding pineapple, Calum and his clumsiness that nearly caused him serious injury in more occasions than they can even remember. And then there was Steve and his hair, his glorious hair, which he caught in a bonfire and singed half of it off before Niall tipped a bucket of dirty water over his head. 

It’s nice and comfortable and just like it used to be, so when it’s time to go down to the beach to meet Hook and Smee, Louis is filled with an overwhelming sense of calm, like he’ll be taking pieces of them with him in his heart, safely tucked away for when he needs it the most.

Louis changes into some of his old clothes that Niall had kept hidden away, making him feel like he’s transforming back into Pan. He leaves behind his newer clothes for the boys, as well as the rest of his Other World possessions which are useless, but Zayn thinks they make nice additions to the collection of trinkets on their shelves. It’s odd seeing them so out of place—his laptop and phone—things that were once such a big part of his day-to-day, now no more useful than the pretty coloured rocks they sit beside. At least they’ll get some use out of his notebook and pens he muses as he sets them down on the table.

Louis sighs and turns toward the door to find the boys looking at him expectantly, Niall with his hands behind his back. “Y’alright?” Louis asks, tilting his chin up.

“Thought you might like to take this with you,” Niall says as brings his arms around to reveal Louis’ panpipes.

Louis gasps. “Where did you-“

“Found ‘em on one of our raids of The Jolly Roger,” Niall offers. “Figured Hook might let you take them on board. If he doesn’t, you're no worse off than you were before.”

Louis hasn’t played for five years and he’s not even sure if he remembers how. He steps forward and takes them from Niall’s outstretched hand, the wood smooth under his fingers, the weight of them familiar and welcoming. 

“Thank you…” Louis murmurs, looking at them in awe. They’re weathered, the holes worn down from where his lips had caressed them over and over again as he played his tunes, happy songs with lilting melodies and softer, more contemplative music for when he was feeling beaten down by the weight on his shoulders. 

He slings the strap over his head and the pipes slot into the dip between his shoulder blades like an archer’s quiver. He stands up straighter, emboldened, prepared to face his fate.

“It’s time,” Zayn says. “You ready?”

Louis nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do this.”

They make their way down to the beach in single file, silent except for the crunching of leaves and sticks beneath their feet as the dirt path gives way to sand the closer they get to the dunes. The late afternoon sun filters through the canopy of thick rainforest that hugs the coastline, warm air trapped within its blanket of branches and Louis breathes it into his lungs, savouring it, committing it to memory.

The path comes to an end, just a few more steps and they’ll be out in the open and on the beach. Zayn stops and turns, Niall following suit. They both look nervous, sad, the emotions clearly painted on their faces. Louis is overtaken with an intense need to reassure them, to ease the burden of guilt they feel for the deal that has been struck.

“Bring it in, lads,” Louis says, holding his arms out wide. They come together in a tentative embrace, too tentative for Louis’ liking, and that simply won’t do. He pulls them in tighter, trying to show them that he's okay, that this isn’t going to break him, that he’s doing it willingly and out of his love for them all.

Louis pulls back and pats Zayn on the shoulder, nodding toward the beach and they continue on. As the coastline comes into view over the dune, Louis sees one of the Jolly Rogers’ longboats dragged up onto the shore, just on the water's edge, the prisoners still sitting inside and its crew of pirates standing guard. The Lost Boys and villagers look to be in fairly good shape, tired and dishevelled, but otherwise unharmed which sends a wave of relief coursing through Louis’ body. From what Zayn and Niall had said he’d feared the worst, so the reality is a welcome sight.

The Siren Minerva hovers above the water a decent way out, her form limiting her ability to move over land. Her long black dress, shredded at the bottom, skims the surface of the still harbour. Steely grey hair flowing like molten silver, shiny and in stark contrast to her blueish white skin and soulless black eyes. Her arms hang by her sides, boney fingers protruding from her sleeves with talon-like yellow nails at their ends. She’s a disgusting creature, inside and out, and strikes terror in all those who come upon her.

As they make their way toward the group, the crew parts and Smee strides forward, peg leg digging into the sand. His ginger beard is filthy and Louis is fairly certain he spies a chunk of meat hidden in the thatch of wiry hair. He shudders at the thought as Smee breaks into a smug, toothy smile, or as best he can muster with what’s left of his teeth. Behind him, a glint of metal catches Louis’ eye, circular, smooth, in place of where a hand should be. Hook.

His nemesis comes into view, moving around and in front of Smee and Louis’ breath catches in his throat. He remembers him well, tall and lanky, but strong too, even at nineteen. But the last five years have seen him really grow into himself, the man coming toward him now is just that, a man. He’s even taller than Louis recalls, filled out, shoulders broader, legs firmer with thick thighs straining beneath his trousers. His black leather coat drapes down to below his knees, the breeze kicking it out to give Louis a glimpse of his sword, sheathed and hanging at his side from his thick belt. A maroon shirt gapes open to reveal his silver necklaces which catch on his chest hair as he moves.

But it’s his face where Louis finds the biggest change. Once tanned and often tinged with glee during their gameplay, what he sees now is a pallor more reminiscent of a ghostly creature; a greyish complexion, deep bags under his sunken eyes that are rimmed with black, lips void of colour. His gaze is fixed, empty, like he’s lost his very being to the depths of the ocean. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then it is abundantly clear that Hook has none. 

Louis steps forward putting some distance between himself and his friends, readying himself to be exchanged for the prisoners as agreed. Squaring up his posture he adopts his trademark stance, hands on his hips, feet shoulder-width apart. “Hook,” he says with a curt nod.

“Pan,” Hook replies, flat and emotionless, voice deep and rumbling.

They stand there, regarding each other and for the briefest of moments Louis is sure he sees a flash of something in Hook’s expression. Recognition? Confusion? Whatever it is, it’s short-lived. 

“Load him up, boys,” Smee says, and the moment is gone.

Two of the pirates surge forward and yank Louis’ arms behind his back, quickly securing his hands with a thick rope. It bites into his skin, soft from his years spent banished in the Other World, but he maintains his composure, not wanting to show even a hint of vulnerability.

He watches as the Lost Boys and villagers clamber out of the boat and are reunited with Zayn and Niall. Warm embraces shared all around, relief palpable at their freedom.

Louis is dragged to the now empty boat, sand kicking up under his boots before he’s lifted in the air and deposited on the damp wooden boards, the motley pirate crew climbing in and surrounding him with Hook and Smee taking up their spots at the opposite end.

As the boat is pushed out into the harbour the group stands on the shore; small waves and sorrowful expressions will be the last memories he has of them, and that’s just the way it has to be. He may never see them again, but he knows he’s done the right thing. Sixteen lives exchanged for one, even if that one is his own, it’s worth it.


	2. The Pirate

The longboat cuts through the small waves, listing from side to side as the crew plough their oars into the salty water. Harry can sense Minerva behind him, off to the side, but he doesn’t turn to look, his gaze transfixed on the prisoner a few rows down in front of him. He’s facing away, hair whipping against his caramel cheeks, arms pulled tight behind his back, pipes between his shoulder blades, moulded to him like they’re an extension of his body.

He tries to latch onto the memories, buried away behind the fog; games and battles and fun and laughter. Not Harry’s laughter, but _his_. Pan. It’s a jumbled mess now. Swimming and swirling, flashes of light, a trill of happiness, a feeling, a moment. But there’s a weight on him, in him, a darkness that consumes him and won’t let him breathe. It’s always there, making him fight to think, to remember.

The boat hits the swell, the point of his hook embedding itself in the wooden seat as his brain tries to instruct his fingers to grip onto it, but those fingers are long gone, taken away by the boy, no, the man before him.

There had been something—just a little bit of a something—on the beach when their eyes had met. A flash, a spark. But it was gone too quickly, dragged back under into the depths of his soul where there is only blackness and confusion.

It had been Minerva’s idea to cut the deal, he thinks. Or maybe it had been Smee’s. Could it have been his own? He tries to sweep away the cobwebs in his mind but he can’t. It’s exhausting. Fighting. Struggling to grasp onto the light. He furrows his brows and closes his eyes tightly. When was the last time he could fucking think? He’s walking down a long dark hallway, breathless, locked doors on either side. He tries one, and then another, memories trapped behind them. If only he knew how to break them down. 

The longboat thuds against the side of the Jolly Roger breaking Harry’s concentration. He refocuses and shifts his shoulders back, assuming his usual expression; eyes narrowed, lips in a straight line, and not giving any sign of his internal turmoil.

The crew thread the ropes through the pulleys and heave the boat up with their collective strength. They grumble and gripe at each other as it tilts on one side and is then righted, extra grunts emanating from the other end. It’s a slow process but they eventually haul it up and lodge it in the bay. Harry gets out first, and strides toward his cabin at the other end of the deck, sparing no courtesy for his crew or Smee. They know what they’re doing with the prisoner and don’t need his instruction.

Harry walks into his sanctuary, shucking off his coat and stowing his sword in its hold on the wall. He lights the lamps around the room, the incandescent light bathing the space in a golden hue. His gaze is drawn to his maps, laid out on the large table in the middle of the room. It’s one of the only things that calms him anymore and he often goes over them long into the night, trying to teach his mind how to function and fucking _remember_ , something, anything. He knows in his bones that things aren’t right but he can’t make sense of it.

There’s a rap on his door, startling from his thoughts. “Enter,” he says in his usual pirate voice. It’s a bizarre thing really. Something he’d unconsciously started doing when he’d taken over the Jolly Roger. Even at seventeen Harry had been a skilful swordsman, cunning and sure, light on his feet, but he had needed to further assert himself to command the crew, the low timbre of his voice only needing only a bit of tweak to make it foreboding. It had continued from there, just another layer adding to the character he was building. He turns to see Smee poke his head around the edge of the door.

“Captain Hook, Sir. The prisoner is secured in the cell.”

“Very good.”

“Cookie is readying our meal. Will you be joining us for the celebration?”

Harry straightens up and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes. Yes of course,” he replies. He’d much prefer to stay in his cabin but that wouldn’t look good. As Captain, he needs to be seen revelling in their victory, even though it leaves a hollow pit in his stomach. He hadn’t wanted this. No that’s not right. He hadn’t wanted what came _before_ this; the battles and kidnapping and looting and plundering. At least he doesn’t think so. He senses he’d wanted Pan back but for what purpose he isn’t sure. 

“Very good, Captain. We’ll await your arrival.”

Harry nods in acknowledgment and Smee takes his leave, his peg leg knocking a rhythmical beat in its wake. He’s always been a snivelling excuse for a First Mate and Harry’s quite sure he’d slit his throat and take over the ship given the opportunity. But he has no fighting abilities and can neither instil fear in the crew nor elicit respect from them.

Harry inherited him, as he did most of the crew when he’d won the Jolly Roger in the fierce battle. His previous ship, the Deathly Dagger, had been scuttled after the battle, too much damage to be salvaged and his Captains title had sunk with her. Not that he necessarily missed being referred to as Captain Rumblood. He fucking hates rum. 

The Jolly Roger had come with a far more appealing title; Captain Blackheart. At least that one made some sense, announcing his presence, in a way. But when he lost his hand and adopted his now infamous hook in its place, the new title, Captain Hook, had stuck. It was unique. Even though it was born out of a loss, it showed that he wasn’t easily killed and his enemies would be reminded of that each time they spoke his name.

He hasn’t heard anyone utter his real name in so long he barely recalls what it sounds like. Harry. Not very fearsome. It sounds more like a boy, not a man, a boy in a bakery with curly hair and deep dimples. Happy. Carefree.

Harry slumps down onto the end of his bed, head in his hands. How is it that he can remember things from far back in his past so clearly, yet the last six years are a muddied blur?

Ever since Minerva showed up things have been different. _He’s_ been different. Things had spiralled out of control quickly, his once motley crew of relatively jovial pirates had become more bloodthirsty, more eager to seek out battles for the sake of them rather than a strategic outcome. They started targeting weaker ships rather than seeking out those who could improve their standing on the high seas.

Harry undoes the leather ties around his hook and sets it down on the bed, the scarred skin red and tender to his touch. It’s practical, both to protect his stump and to use as a weapon. He lays down and reaches for the jar of balm on his bedside table. Rubbing the waxy ointment into the skin before sitting up and reattaching the harness.

Harry gets to his feet and takes a deep breath, readying himself for the mood of his crew. He never really knows what state he’ll find them in but he suspects that tonight they will be raucous after their capture of Pan.

He heads down to the galley, their cheers and shouts greeting him upon arrival. They quiet somewhat when he enters and he strides to his place at the head of the long table, taking a seat in his high-backed chair, a plate piled high with salted meat and biscuits and a mug of ale waiting for him.

The night wears on and Harry watches as the crew move through various stages of drunkenness, each stumbling off to their shared quarters until he’s the only one left.

All night he’s been trying to grasp onto the feeling that sparked through him at the beach when he came face-to-face with Pan. But the more he tries, the further away it seems to get, and the more exhausted he feels.

He lets his head loll to the side, resting on the cushioned back of his chair and feet up on the table as his eyes drift closed.

Harry wakes with a start, a throbbing ache in his leg where it has cramped. He rubs at it and that's when he hears it; a soft, beautiful tune coming from the cell at the back of the galley where they keep the prisoners, or just one prisoner now. 

His brain is mush, just as it usually is, even more so now in his post-sleep haze. He gets to his feet, stretching out his legs and goes to the doorway, pulled in by the soulful music. Pan must hear his footsteps and he stops playing. Harry feels the loss like a stab in his chest. He wants it to keep going, to urge him on, but he can’t speak to him. It wouldn’t be right for the Captain to interact with the prisoner. Could there be another way?

Harry wonders if Pan has been given food and water. He might be a pirate, but he’s not as heartless as his reputation implies. He goes back to the table and makes up a plate from some of the leftover food, grabbing a mug with fresh ale from the barrel off to the side, glad that the rest of the crew are long-since gone and aren’t there to witness his kindness, small as it might be.

He goes back to the doorway which leads to a short hallway and past a storage room before reaching the caged off area at the stern of the ship, just below Harry’s cabin. It’s dark and quiet, save for the gentle rocking of the ship, wood creaking as it’s pressed on all sides by the weight of the sea.

He’s never really spoken to Pan, aside from a few words here and there, mostly in the heat of battle, and always using his pirate voice. He’s a curiosity. Pan. An enigma. One Harry wants to understand. Now that he has him trapped perhaps it’s an opportunity to peel back some of that mystery and see what makes him tick.

Harry steps over the threshold, keeping close to the wall of the storage room to hide himself fully as he shuts the door behind him, plunging the area into complete darkness. He presses his back against the wood and slides down onto the floor, setting the plate and mug down before pushing them toward the first opening in the bars of the cell.

“Thought you might be hungry,” Harry ventures, the tone of his real voice sounding odd to his ears.

There’s a shuffling and a scape of boots followed by the drag of the plate and the clink of the mug against the bars. Pan’s retreating footsteps indicate he’s moved to the other side of the cell and Harry relaxes back against the wall, stretching out his legs.

“How do I know it isn’t poisoned?” Pan asks, a rasp in his tone, light and airy, with a hint of defiance.

Harry smirks to himself. “Maybe it is. Guess you’ll just have to trust me,” Harry says into the black void. It’s oddly calming, being cloaked like this, the lack of visual cues heightening his other senses.

Pan snorts out a curt laugh. “Never.”

“The way I see it, your options are pretty limited. Eat. Don’t eat. It’s entirely up to you.”

“You make it sound like I have choices here.” Pan’s words are mumbled like they’re spoken around a mouthful of food.

They’re silent for a while, Harry letting Pan eat. He wants to learn more but he can’t get his thoughts to crystallize into coherent questions.

It’s Pan that breaks through the quiet. “What’s your name?” He asks as Harry hears the mug being set down on the floor.

He considers giving a fake name—Bill or Cookson or John or Foggerty—but he has a strange desire to use his own. There’s no harm, Pan’s never going to suspect, never going to know the truth of his identity. Besides, this visit, this conversation, is a one-time thing. “H-Harry?” He finally stammers out, unused to uttering his real name out loud. 

Pan snickers. “Are you asking me or telling me?” And there’s a teasing lilt in his voice which makes Harry smile.

“Telling you. I’m Harry.”

“And you’re a pirate?”

“Sometimes…” Harry responds, trailing off. He hadn’t really considered that he’d have to create an alternate persona and now he’s put on the spot.

“And what are you when you’re not a pirate then?”

“Just Harry,” he says, deciding to keep it simple.

“Well, _just Harry_. Thank you for the food. Thought I was just going to be left in here to starve to death.”

Harry is a bit taken aback. He might be a lot of things but cruel isn’t one of them. He’s slain others, other pirates, in battles, of course, but that’s different. That’s the job. The life. “The Captain wouldn’t allow that.”

Pan scoffs. “Oh yeah, he’s a real prince among pirates.” Harry can almost hear the eye roll, he wonders what it would look like, how Pan’s expression would change, the raise of his eyebrows, the purse of his lips.

“He’s not as bad as some like to make out,” Harry counters.

“Seriously, mate? You’re gonna have to do better than that. I’m literally in a cage. Which I was put in, at his instruction, in exchange for the release of my friends, after I was kidnapped from the Other World which I was only in because he banished me there. Not as bad as some like to-“

“He’s not- He didn’t- He-“

“He what?”

Harry bristles. “You cut off his _hand_.”

“He was going to kill me!” Pan whisper-shouts. 

A laugh bubbles up within Harry’s chest and escapes his lips, breathy, mixing with Pan’s words as they hang in the air. It’s absurd, is the thing. He has no idea why he finds the exchange humourous, it’s not funny in the slightest. But his outburst seems to stop Pan in his tracks and he shifts tack.

“Uhm… not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, thanks for the food, by the way, but won’t you get strung up if Hook finds you here fraternizing with the enemy? Can’t imagine that’d go down too well.”

Harry hums in response. Pan’s right. Harry shouldn’t be here. There’s a risk he’ll be found by one of the crew and if it got back to Minerva—which it surely would through Smee—she’d likely have him fed to the sea gods. But for some reason he feels oddly comfortable here and he suddenly realises that the fog in his brain has eased somewhat. He can almost think now, the dull pressure at the base of his skull more of a buzz than a heavy weight. Perhaps it’s the dark, or maybe the quiet? 

Pan moves through the cell and back to the bars, the sound of the plate and mug being threaded through them jolting Harry from his thoughts. He shifts over, closer to the door, just in case, as he hears Pan slide down the bars, sitting only a couple of metres away.

Harry lets his head thud back against the wall, his brain starting to focus more; things, memories, flashes, all coming to the forefront of his mind in a steady trickle. Pan’s breaths are even, settled, and Harry finds his own chest rising and falling in sync, like a rhythmic connection between them.

“Harry?”

His name falls from Pan’s lips, sweet like a song, drawing him out of himself. “Yes, Pan?”

“My name’s actually Louis.”

Harry’s head snaps around, even though there is nothing to see. “Really?”

“Mhmmm… got the nickname because I play the panpipes.”

“That’s what woke me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You play beautifully.”

Louis inhales a short, sharp breath and a few beats pass before he responds. “Thank you. I can play again... if you want?” He offers, soft and tentative as if he’s afraid Harry might say no.

“I'd like that,” Harry says easily because he desperately wants to hear him again, up close, and not in his post-sleep haze.

“It won’t wake anyone else?”

“Everyone’s far away. Sound asleep or passed out from too much ale. I’d dozed off at the table in the galley. That’s the only reason I heard you.”

“Alright.”

Harry closes his eyes in anticipation for reasons escaping him. It matters not if they’re wide open or squeezed tight, not a speck of light is filtering into their cocoon. But he keeps them shut regardless.

He hears Louis take a deep breath and then it starts. The first few notes hit Harry like a wall of water, shuddering his bones, drenching him. The next few pull him under, consuming him, drowning him in the wistful tune. After that he’s raised up, above the waves, cresting and falling along with the melody, at the mercy of what Louis chooses to give him. 

It’s weird and wonderful and he’s spinning and grounded at the same time, and he can’t breathe because there’s too much air in his lungs from holding it in, and he wants to cry out and let go and curl in on himself and unfurl his arms out wide in equal measure.

Louis is masterful, making Harry’s heart dance and his skin pull tight with the goosebumps prickling all over him. He lets out a long breath, relaxing into the song, melancholy, wanting. Harry hasn’t felt like this in years, since his father used to play his mandolin by the fireside at night while his mother sat mending clothes for the villagers, Harry curled up contentedly at their feet.

The memory is so clear, the sounds and smells enveloping like a warm blanket. Safety, love, home. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears drip down onto his chest, burning like drops of molten steel. He gasps, lurching forwards and bringing his knees up to his chest, gripping around his shins to try and hold himself together.

The music stops abruptly. “Harry? Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m… I’m fine,” he says on an exhale. Getting to his feet he falls back into the wall, head swimming. He steadies himself, brushing the dirt off his trousers. “Thank you. That was… lovely. I must go. It’s late.”

“Oh,” Louis says quietly. “Okay.”

Harry makes his way to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Good night, Louis.”

“Night, Harry.”

He takes his leave, drifting back through the galley and up to the main deck, floating on the wave of Louis’ beautiful music and whatever it was that had just transpired. At the bow of the ship, Minerva is hovering in her usual place, a sharp blue glow surrounding her. Thankfully, she doesn’t acknowledge Harry’s presence so he heads into his cabin, closing the door behind him, brain clouding over with a heavy fog once again. As he lays on his bed, letting sleep pull him under, he thinks about the man below him. This little escapade was supposed to help him to peel back the layers and make sense of the strange enigma that is Pan, or Louis as he now knows him, but all it’s done is leave him with more questions and an itch under his skin to learn more.

~~*~~

Harry wakes with the dawn as always, the sunbeams flooding his cabin and catching the dust particles as they swirl in the air. His fog is heavy this morning, clinging to every thought, making him feel sluggish and confused. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the wooden boards with a thud as he scrubs his hands down his face and back up through his hair. 

They’ve planned to be in the harbour for another few days and Harry is relieved for the brief respite. There’s work to be done though. The ship needs maintenance and the forests here provide an excellent source of timber for their repairs.

The galley is bustling when he enters, the crew seeming to have recovered from their night of revelry. Cookie opens the door at the back of the galley and goes inside, coming back dragging a heavy sack of something behind him. The door remains ajar and as Harry walks toward his seat at the end of the long table, a memory starts to form—music, a raspy voice, a feeling of happiness—but he can’t make it stick. 

Smee is doling out work for the day earning groans from the burly pirates. They’re a lazy lot, but they hold their own in a battle so Harry can’t complain too much. Groups peel off and head up to the main deck to start their jobs and Harry follows soon after. He watches as the longboat is lowered and most of the crew head to land to gather the wood. Minerva hovers off the stern, keeping a check on activities as she usually does. He hates her presence, for the most part, but she’s been invaluable in the last few battles, her magic and cunning awarding them victories over other ships with ease.

He goes back to his cabin and pores over his maps like always. Finding comfort in their scrawled lines. The day drags on, work on the foremast proceeding well. There’s not much for a Captain to do when a ship is in harbour. No course to chart, no lookout to keep.

Harry sits at his usual place behind at the wheel, foot propped up on the railing and observes as the crew shave long curls of wood off the trunk that will become the new foremast. 

“The prisoner is a quiet one,” Smee says from beside him, startling Harry with his stealthy approach. For a man with a peg leg, he manages to be eerily quiet at times.

“Yes,” Harry responds, not interested in conversation when stringing words together is such an effort.

“He’ll make a nice offering for the sea gods before we embark on our next voyage though. Should ensure our safe travels.”

The words filter into Harry’s brain, pushing through the fog. So that’s what Minerva wanted him for then. A sacrifice for the underworld. He guesses it makes sense. His magic might be masked by Minerva’s spell, but the creatures of the deep will still be able to feast on it.

There’s a loud crash from below, followed by shouts of anger and Harry stands, surveying the ruckus. Grub and Slash are being held back by other pirates as they spit and hurl insults at each other. Harry leaps over the railing of the quarterdeck and onto the main deck in one smooth motion, coat billowing out like a cape behind him. He strides directly into the melee, holding out his arms, one against each of their chests. “Enough!” 

Slash snarls and Grub bares his rotting teeth, each man wanting to finish with the upper hand. It’s not the first time Harry has had to break up a fight between these two, but it’s tiresome nonetheless. The excitement dulls and everybody returns to their work, angry glares still shared, but at least from a distance now.

It’s nearly supper time so Harry heads back into his cabin at a loss for what to do with himself, which is a fair too frequent occurrence of late. He toes off his boots and lays down on his bed, feet hanging off the end and staring up the ceiling willing his mind to clear.

His eyelids flutter open and he’s met with a darkened room, moonlight filtering in through the small porthole above his washbasin. All is quiet, no noise travelling up from the galley, just the sound of the anchor's thick chain knocking against the hull as the ship rocks with the gentle swell.

Harry sits up and stretches out his back, taking off his hook and oiling the skin. He leaves it off, no need to cover up his disfigurement if the crew is already asleep. The rumble of his stomach gets him to his feet and he makes his way downstairs to seek out something to eat. The table is a mess as always; Cookie usually joining in with the evening's festivities and leaving the cleaning until morning. There’s plenty of food to be found so Harry makes himself a plate. It seems familiar and he gets a surge of sensations from the previous evening; back against a wall, pipes, tears. He glances up to find the door to the corridor that leads to the cell closed shut. Pan, his brain helpfully provides. No. Not Pan, a voice from the depths of his mind says. _Louis_. 

His heart skips a beat like it’s been gripped tight in a vice, sweat prickling on his upper lip. He grabs onto the memory as hard as he can, dragging it to the surface, trying to shine a light on it, but it slips farther away. He shakes his head, frustrated, he just wants to _remember_. Why can’t he remember?

His body is moving then, without his instruction, piling food high on another plate, finding a tray beside the barrel of ale and pouring two mugs. He goes to the closed door and turns the handle, pushing it open before coming back for the tray. He steps into the corridor and sets the tray down on the ground, shutting the door behind him. Darkness. 

“Hello?” The familiar voice says from the cell.

“Hi, Louis. Thought you might be hungry,” Harry says and slides one plate and a mug along the floor, taking up his spot on against the wall just like he had the previous night. It’s coming back to him now. Louis had played his pipes and they’d talked, but as Harry and Louis, not as Hook and Pan. 

“Wasn’t sure you’d visit again. I thought maybe I’d upset you…” His voice trails off, unsure and timid, as Harry hears Louis collect the food and ale. He doesn’t go back to the other side of the cell tonight, just sits down with his back against the bars, or at least that’s what it sounds like.

“No. Not at all. Just… your playing was so lovely it reminded me of… home.” Even as the word falls from his lips, his mind opens up and lets him in, the fireplace and his parents, happiness, warmth.

“Where’s home?” Louis asks around a mouthful of food. It’s an innocent enough question, Louis having no way of knowing the pain that it will bring to the surface.

A chill runs through Harry’s body. Even blanketed in the safety of the night, it's still not enough to quell the ache in his chest. 

“Home is… it’s gone,” Harry says and picks up his mug of ale, his hunger having left him for now. He takes a long swig, letting the tepid liquid drain down his parched throat.

“Oh. I’m sorry. That must be hard,” Louis says earnestly.

“It was a long time ago.”

Louis is quiet for a while and Harry drinks his ale, mulling things over in his clearer head. 

“They’ve got it wrong you know,” Louis says quietly, barely above a whisper. “Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Maybe it helps to form scars, but they don’t heal. Not the ones in your heart. Not really.”

Harry considers Louis’ words. “I think you’re right.”

“I’m very wise,” Louis says and Harry can hear the grin in his tone.

“I’ll remember that.”

“As you should, Harold.”

“It’s just Harry.”

“Ahhh, that’s right. Just Harry. I almost forgot… _Harold_.”

Harry feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is that going to be a thing then?”

“Everyone needs a nickname. Don’t you think? You pirates always have other names. Usually god awful ones. Your illustrious Captain for example. I mean it’s a bit obvious, isn’t it?”

Harry feels his fingers move at the mention of his missing hand. It’s just a phantom sensation though. He knows full well it isn’t there anymore. “You should be proud of that one. You’re the reason he has the name.”

“I’m… I’m not proud of it,” Louis says quietly. “Why would you think that? It’s terrible. I cut off a man’s hand. It’s one of the things I regret most in my life.”

Harry is taken aback, not expecting the response. “But you won the fight.”

“I don’t consider it winning. I was just trying to get away. The ship tilted and we lost our footing for a moment. My sword came down at the wrong angle and… and yeah.”

Harry thinks back, digging into his memories. He’s never been able to recall the details of the day, always a blur, always murky. But not now. Now he can see it clearly. Harry had chased him down into the galley, under the stairs off to the side where they keep the barrels of ale and rum. He’d corned him. Bigger and broader, blocking his exit. The sea had been angry, Minerva had said the creatures of the deep needed to be appeased with blood. It seems like a ridiculous reason to his more conscious, clear-headed self, but at the time it was his sole focus. He replays the moment, like a sequence of stilted pictures. Harry had lunged, almost running his cutlass right through Louis but he’d dodged to the side and Harry had skewered one of the barrels, ale gushing out onto the floor, making it slippery even for his shore-footed foe. Harry had swung at him and he’d gone to block his blade just as the ship had listed heavily to the starboard, taking them both by surprise. That’s when he felt the slice, blood spewing out of his wound, mixing with the ale and turning the floor crimson. 

“It… it wasn’t your fault,” Harry states flatly, realization dawning on him like the slow creep of the sun up over the horizon. The last thing he remembers is falling to the ground and someone wrapping his stump in a tight cloth as he drifted into unconsciousness. “You. It was you.”

“What?”

Harry comes back to himself enough to realise his mistake, almost revealing his true identity. “Hook. He mentioned that someone tended to him. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“I uhm… well I couldn't very well leave him like that. I had to do something.”

“You… could’ve left him for dead. He surely would’ve bled out from such a wound but you didn’t. He’d been trying to kill you and you saved him. Why?”

Louis doesn’t immediately respond. The air is heavy, thick, cloying as Harry waits, both confused and intrigued. What would possess Louis to do that when all Harry had shown him through their interactions was a complete disregard for his worth and his life. Even when they were younger and their battles were more games than anything else, they’d still be at odds with each other. Why would Louis be so kind?

“What are they planning on doing with me?” Louis asks, changing the subject and startling Harry from his thoughts.

“Minerva says the sea gods are hungry.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“We’re here for another two days, then we’ll sail out to Dead Man's Rock.”

“Again. Not liking the sound of that.”

“I think you’re going to be given to them as a sacrifice. To appease them,” Harry says, hating that he has to be the one to reveal Louis’ fate to him. “Apparently, the potency of your aura is much stronger because of your magic. That’s why you were seen as a worthy swap for the other prisoners.”

“Didn’t fancy sugar coating that for me?”

“Sorry.”

“So this is Minerva’s doing, not Hook’s.”

“Most things are,” Harry mumbles. “She just… she runs everything. Everyone just does what she says.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why not fight back?”

“She’s too strong. I think… I think she’s cast a spell over Hook and the crew. I don’t… I don’t know how to break it. But when I’m here, with you, it’s like the fog in my brain clears a bit and I can think straight.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmm… like, last night, the further I got away from you, the more the fog came back. It wasn’t until I came into the galley just now that I remembered even talking to you.”

“I’m glad I can help but you know that’s really weird, right?”

“It is.” Harry chuckles, relaxing back into the wall and tilting his chin up. 

“You’ve got a nice laugh, Harry. I don’t think I’ve heard it before,” Louis says softly.

“Not much to laugh about.”

Louis sighs. “I’m sorry. You should always have something to make you laugh… or someone.”

“Well, now I’ve got you,” Harry replies, the smile evident in his voice.

“For two days, at least.”

The implication settles heavily in Harry’s gut, the smile sliding off his face. He draws his legs up and wraps his arms around his shins, turning his head and resting his cheek on his knees. The cold from the floor travels up his spine, a shiver rolling through his body. “Are you warm enough? Do you need a blanket?”

“I’m okay, but a blanket would be nice.”

He feels his way along the wall blindly until he locates the doorknob of the storage room and heads inside, sliding his foot out in front of him in the darkness and knocking his boot into sacks of food on the ground as he works his way to the rear. He runs his fingers over the contents of the shelves as he goes, stocked and organized by Cookie who would definitely give Harry grief if he discovered him in here; ropes, jars, small sacks and boxes, cured meats. He stops when he feels a soft fabric, musing to himself that nicknaming the cook, Cookie, isn’t exactly original - maybe Louis is onto something. He grabs a few blankets from the shelf and makes his way carefully back into the corridor. 

Harry sits down in his spot and pushes two of the blankets towards Louis. “So, tell me about the Other World,” he says as he stretches out his legs and lays the spare blanket over the top.

“You wanna hear?”

“I’d love to. Always been curious. Tell me some tales, Louis,” Harry says and he settles in, leaning back against the wall.

“Alright. Get ready for your mind to be blown,” Louis says, a hint of excitement underlying his tone.

Louis talks and Harry listens. He tells him of cities with buildings reaching high into the sky, of contraptions that move people around; cars and buses and trains and planes that fly in the sky like birds. Fanciful stories of a thing called electricity that powers machines and lights roads and homes. Bizarre and magical terms like computers and phones and something called the internet. His tone drops lower, more laced with emotion when he mentions his friend Liam and how much he misses him, how he had helped Louis after he’d been banished; Harry’s heart sinks at having had a hand in that course of action. He speaks with love about his friends in the street where his and Liam’s cafe is, making weirdly named drinks while Liam whipped up delicious treats in the kitchen.

Harry listens intently, the lilt of Louis’ raspy voice rising and falling with a cadence that draws him in and holds him tight.

It’s soothing, too soothing. If only Harry had stayed awake. If only he’d gone back to his cabin. If only he hadn’t been so enamoured by Louis. If only…

~~*~~

“Traitor!” Smee’s booming voice jolts Harry awake, his eyes flying open to find his first mate standing over him, light spilling in from the open door to the galley. _Oh god_. He’s hauled to his feet by Slash and Grub and dragged out of the corridor, tripping over his feet as the rest of the crew stand by in judgement crammed around the long table. Harry is propelled toward the ladder, dazed, ricocheting off bodies, hands grabbing at him, prodding at his sides as he’s lifted up and onto the main deck.

He’s pushed to his knees, a boot in the middle of his back forcing him forwards, wincing as his hand and stump landing harshly on the wooden boards, head hanging down, fringe falling in front of his eyes. Minerva’s ominous glow comes into his peripheral vision and he looks up, her hovering figure mere feet from him, an ugly snarl on her lips. His mind starts to go foggy just being in her presence, only the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream keeping him lucid as he fights against it.

“Devil spawn,” Minerva spits out, her crackling voice booming out across the ship. She raises a bony finger as she glares down at him. “Guilty! Consorting with the enemy!”

The crew chants behind him. “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”

There’s nothing Harry can say, held mute by his own conflicting emotions. Louis isn’t the enemy, he knows that now. He’s kind and funny and full of love and life, even in his seemingly hopeless situation. He sees the good in people and has the empathy to care even for those who would mean to cause him harm.

No. It’s Minerva that is pure evil. It’s _her_ that has usurped control of his ship and his crew. It’s _her_ that has presided over the bloodshed and battles that have seen them spiral into the depths of debauchery. It’s _her_ that has seen them do despicable and unthinkable things; kidnapping, imprisonments, and leaving a trail of destruction Harry can barely fathom he’s taken part in.

Harry narrows his eyes and steels himself, rising to his feet and standing tall. “No!” He bellows. “You are the devil. You are the evil in our midst. You are the traitor!”

Minerva’s eyes go wide, fury burning from within. She swoops down on him, arm cocked and releasing as she reaches him, hand connecting with Harry’s cheek. His head snaps to the left, the sting of the strike making him take a step back to steady himself. He turns back to face her, a defiant smile forming on his lips.

The rage is coming off Minerva in waves, palpable, suffocating. “ _Blasphemy_! You will regret your words,” she seethes, hatred oozing from her aura. “I sentence you to the same fate as Pan. A sacrifice to the sea gods. We sail tomorrow. Take him away!”

She rises up high, arms out wide as she circles the main mast, dark storm clouds gathering above the ship, thunder rumbling and lightning striking the ocean on either side of them. 

Harry is shoved back down the ladder, shouts and jeers from the crew as he’s barreled toward the back of the galley. He’s brought to a stop at the doorway, Smee standing on the threshold, arms across his chest, beady eyes staring from beneath his bushy brows. “You thought you could get away with this. You thought you could hide your devious, traitorous, behaviour,” Smee spits out. “But no more. Now you’re getting exactly what you deserve.”

Smee makes his way down the darkened hallway, sliding the key into the lock and pulling open the heavy, barred door of the cell. He turns to reveal a sickening smile, yellowed teeth peeking out from behind his disgusting moustache. Harry’s prodded from behind, Slash and Grub laughing maniacally as he stumbles down the corridor and into the cell, spinning around as the door is slammed shut behind him.

“Filthy scum,” Slash says, spitting on the floor. 

“Rot in hell,” Grub adds, not to be outdone, before striding off.

Smee gives him one final look and Harry sees the vacant stare in his eyes, clearly under Minerva’s spell. It’s so obvious to Harry now, and he wonders what he looks like when he’s affected in that way. If he had an ounce of compassion left in his bones for him he might feel sorry for Smee, knowing that he’s not fully in control of his actions, but at this moment he can’t muster the wherewithal to care. Instead, he just tilts his chin up, stands his ground and watches as Smee walks away, the door at the end of the corridor closing heavily behind him, leaving nothing but an eerie silence.

The quiet is brief, broken by a rustling on the far side of the cell and Harry spins around. The light is dim, just what can seep through the two small portholes near the ceiling and through the tiny gaps between the boards above him that separate this room from his cabin. Well, not his cabin anymore he muses.

As his eyes gradually adjust he properly takes in the space for the first time, having never been on this side of the bars before. It’s a fairly big area, slightly smaller than his cabin, but large enough to fit about twenty prisoners crammed within its confines. Crates line three of the walls, pushed together in groups as makeshift beds, a bucket in one corner and a basin sat atop a barrel in the other. It’s bare and basic and guilt washes over him for having held the Lost Boys and villagers here for those few weeks, glad now that they’re back at their homes.

A figure emerges from out of the shadows and into view. _Louis_. Harry shifts his arm behind his back reflexively, hiding his stump, even though he isn’t really sure why. He drinks him in; a feathery fringe falling across his forehead, caramel skin, and piercing blue eyes. He’s dressed much the same as he used to be when they were younger; an olive green jacket over the same coloured shirt with prominent leather stitching, bands at his elbows, tight trousers on his shapely legs and unusual looking boots on his feet. But it’s his thin, pink lips, a soft smile curling at the edges, that draws his attention. He’s gorgeous, stunning. Harry’s stomach does a barrel roll, mimicking the surge that he feels on the high seas when the swell lifts and drops the ship at its whim.

He’s always been attractive, Harry certainly remembers that, but now though, he’s breathtaking. It’s like his beauty shines from within, everything Harry has learned about him in the last two nights adding layers and depth to what is visible on the surface. 

“Hey,” Louis says as he comes toward him, eyes darting over Harry’s body as if he’s looking for injuries. “You okay?”

He doesn’t appear to be frightened, which is odd, and Harry furrows his brows, standing taller and squaring his shoulders. Given the unsavoury history of Hook and Pan, he expects him to be at least a little cautious. The last time they’d met, as far as Louis is aware, he’d been exchanged for the release of the prisoners, an action that would likely mean his demise.

Harry drops his tone and speaks with his pirate voice. “I’m fine.”

Louis’ smile morphs into a grin which is mildly unsettling. “I don’t think you need to put on that act, _Harold_.”

It takes a few beats for Harry’s brain to catch up and then he reels back in shock. “Wait. What? How did you know-”

“That my visitor for the last two nights was you and that the fierce and mighty Captain Hook and _Just Harry_ are the same person? Come on, man.”

“I wasn’t using my pirate voice when I visited!”

Louis’ eyes reveal a hint of mischief. “Y-your what?”

“My…” Harry drops his tone lower again. “My pirate voice.”

A beat passes, then another and Harry watches in slow motion as Louis throws his head back and starts to cackle. 

“Your _pirate voice_. Oh my god!” He shouts gleefully through peels of laughter. 

Harry stomps past him and slumps down on a crate with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest, a pout forming on his lips. “Why’s that so funny?” He grumbles, dispensing with his pirate voice for fear that Louis makes fun of him again. Louis doesn’t answer, too busy laughing raucously at Harry’s expense. “Louis,” he says sternly.

Louis finally calms down enough to regain some composure and he turns, casually wandering over and sitting down on the crate next to Harry.

Harry glares at the side of his head until he turns, a smug smile on his face. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Adorable, I’ll give you that much. But an idiot nonetheless. I knew it was you that first night, within about two minutes, actually. Pirate voice,” he scoffs, he says as he shifts and draws one leg up under his bum, shaking his head. “Honestly, Harold. You got delusions of grandeur or something?”

Harry replays the last two nights in his head. “So you knew it was me all the time, and yet you kept talking to me?”

Louis shrugs and sweeps his fringe from his eyes in an action that should definitely not make Harry’s heart beat faster. “Yeah. I mean at first, I was wary. Figured you were gonna try and get information out of me or maybe it was a trick. But then…”

“What?”

“You were so, I dunno, sad, different. Not like you were before. It didn’t feel like a trick. Plus, I figured you thought I didn’t know it was you, which was hilarious for a while, but then not so much. You seemed… in pain. Confused too. Like when we talked, and you were remembering things that had been hidden or something, that you were disconnected from it all somehow. I got the sense that you were being genuine, which was a surprise, but I went with it.” Louis nudges their shoulders together. “Hey,” he says and Harry meets his gaze, finding a warmth and kindness he hasn’t seen directed at him in a long time. “I’m glad I did.”

Harry sighs and relaxes his posture. “Me too.”

“So, Captain…”

“M’not the Captain anymore,” Harry says with a grin. “Just Harry.”

“Ahhhh, that's right. You know, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Louis says and leans in close, breath tickling at Harry’s neck as he places his hand on Harry’s thigh. “I much prefer _Just Harry_ anyways. Captain Hook can’t hold a light to you.”

A full-body shiver runs through him, sparking every nerve ending and making him feel like he’s lighting up from within. Louis’ handprint burns like a hot coal and he feels a flush rampage up his chest and onto his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Was a bit worried when I heard the commotion earlier. Glad to see you're alright.”

“Alright? This is far from _alright_ ,” Harry says and flings his arms up into the air. “Louis, I’m a prisoner!”

“Join the club, mate.”

Harry deflates, all the air sucked out of his lungs in an instant. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay. Better that it’s me than the others.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not okay. None of this is okay.”

“Harry, you don’t have-“

“Yes, I do.” Harry stands, starting to pacing around the cell. “This isn’t right. I’m… _god_ ,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “When we were younger it was different. It was more-“

“Like a game?” Louis offers and Harry glances at him, observing his relaxed demeanour, a curious smile on those pink lips that keep drawing his attention.

Harry drags his gaze away and continues his pacing. “Yeah, exactly. We mucked around and it was all in good fun. No one really got hurt.”

“But like, you’re a _pirate_. So-“

“Out there, sure,” Harry says waving toward where he thinks the open ocean is. “Battles and looting and taking over other pirate ships. That’s the job, and everyone knows what they’re signing up for, but here… here it’s different. You and the other Lost Boys and the villagers, you’re all just going about your lives and shouldn’t become embroiled in this… this _mess_.”

Harry stops in his tracks, the realization of what he’s saying hitting him hard. He’s been complicit in so many acts of destruction over the last six years since Minerva’s arrival. He’s caused so much pain and for what?

“Hey. It’s okay. You weren’t yourself,” Louis offers, trying to assuage Harry’s guilt even though Louis’ current situation is a direct result of Harry’s inaction, his inability to ward off Minerva’s spell, his failing.

Harry turns to face him. “No. It’s wrong and it is my fault,” he says as he sits back down beside Louis. “I should’ve fought harder.”

Louis doesn’t respond, just lets Harry’s thoughts simmer which he appreciates. It’s been so long since he was able to process anything at all, let alone something so introspective and important. The ship rocks back and forth as the last six years whirl in his head and it isn’t until the soft sounds of Louis’ pipes fill the cell that Harry’s heartbeat starts to calm. He looks over to find Louis laying across a few crates, head pillowed on a rolled-up blanket, knees bent up, and his instrument at his lips. A wave of exhaustion rolls over Harry and he slides down to mirror Louis’ position, bunching up the other blanket under his head.

The music lets his mind open, more memories accessible just like the previous night. He’s once again reminded of his childhood, happiness, family and is overcome by the need to share that with Louis, to show him that he wasn’t always a pirate, that he used to be someone else, someplace else. He had hopes and dreams for his future, and people who he loved and who loved him back.

“My father used to play the mandolin by the fireside at nighttime, while my mother sewed and sang along,” he starts and Louis keeps playing, adding a soundtrack to his words. “I used to be a baker, you know. Well, I wanted to be when I grew up. That was my dream. We had a bakery in a little village, down on a bay, with the ovens between the shop front and our cottage at the rear. Everything always smelled of bread and sweets,” he continues, almost able to conjure up the aroma over the salty air. “I helped out in the shop before my lessons and then again afterwards. I loved watching the dough rise and then be moulded into these tiny shapes. They’d go into the oven as one thing and come out completely different, bigger, it was like magic. It was all so simple, back then. Good, honest work, you know? Feeding people. It’s all I ever wanted, that life. A family…”

Harry trails off, the memories morphing from joyous into something far more painful. “I was cleaning out the ovens with my father while my mother was in the shop, just like every other day. I heard them before I saw them. Canons at first, booming as they fired from the harbour, followed by the sounds of our village being torn apart, shouts and screams. When my father told me to stay hidden there was a panic in his voice I’d never heard before. It’s the last thing he ever said to me. I ran into the cottage at the back and tried to hide, but I was found and rounded up with all of the other young men and boys. We were taken on board the ship, the Black Scorpion, Captained by the Pirate Bloodoath. I was only twelve. Five years later, his was the first ship I took.”

The music stops and Harry presses his chin to his chest, looking down his body and over the tops of his boots. Louis is sitting up, and even in the dim lighting, he can make out a look of sadness marring his beautiful features. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” Louis says barely above a whisper, his words laced with sincerity. 

Harry rolls over onto his side, pillowing his hands under his head. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago,” he murmurs, suddenly overwhelmed with how tired he is even though it’s still early. He feels like he’s been exhausted for years. Exhausted and alone.

Louis starts playing again, a lighter tune, almost a lullaby and Harry drifts off to sleep.

~~*~~

Harry wakes with a start, his nightmare fading into the abyss as a hand rubs his shoulder, soothing words filtering into his consciousness. 

“Shhhh… it’s alright. You’re safe.”

He blinks his eyes open and his surroundings come into focus, a pair of blue eyes staring back, piercing into him even in the subdued lighting. 

“Sorry. Shit,” Harry says and Louis stills his hand, leaving it in place to burn into Harry’s skin.

The concern is etched on Louis’ face, lines worrying his forehead. “Was just a bad dream, yeah? You’ll be alright.”

Harry nods as Louis gets up from his crouch wandering over to the barred wall of the cell, threading his hands through and letting his head rest against the metal. 

Harry sits up and swings his legs around, feet planting on the floor as he stretches out his back, the joints cracking loudly in the quiet space. He glances up to the small porthole, the sun now dropping well past noon. “How long was I out?”

“Five or six hours I’d guess, not sure. You were pretty restless. Is that normal?” Louis asks, not turning around.

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Not sure if it’s _normal_ , as such, but yeah, sounds like me.” He can feel the dried sweat on his back, damper at his temples indicating that he’s had a fitful slumber like always. There’s just so much that haunts him it’s hard to push it away. He watches as Louis flexes his calves, up on his toes and back down again, the material of his trousers clinging to the shape of his arse deliciously. Harry licks his dry lips, allowing his gaze to remain fixed and drinking in his fill. 

“I can feel you staring, you know,” Louis says with a hint of mischief in his voice. Harry’s eyes snap up to find he’s been caught out, Louis smirking at him, and he should feel guilty, but at the moment he really can’t be bothered. They’re going to be dead in two days, so it’s not like it matters.

“It’s a nice view,” is what he decides to go with and spreads his legs, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

Louis snorts out a laugh. “You’re incorrigible.” He doesn’t move to discourage Harry though, just turns his head back around and looks down the corridor, sticking his arse out more obviously which makes Harry smile.

It’s a bizarre situation, for a multitude of reasons, not least of which is that Louis should hate him. Not just dislike him, but actually, be repulsed by his entire existence. It doesn’t make any sense. Harry has been responsible for some unforgivable things over recent years; heinous acts against Louis and the rest of the Lost Boys, the villagers, partaking in the banishment of Louis to the Other World, and his return to free the prisoners. Why isn’t he filled with rage? Why is he being so kind? Why is speaking to Harry at all?

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Harry asks, putting voice to thought.

Louis turns at that, leaning back against the bars, arms crossed over his chest. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Why aren’t you furious? I’ve done nothing to deserve your kindness or forgiveness.”

Louis lets a few beats pass, head tilted to the side. “I guess I just don’t see the point,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, if we’ve only got a couple of days until we’re fed to the monsters of the deep, why should I let those days be spent making our lives more miserable than they already are? You’ve clearly not been in control of all of your actions and the Harry I’ve witnessed in the last few days isn’t the same Captain Hook that participated in those things. I don’t think so anyway. Am I wrong?”

“No. No, you’re not wrong.”

“Thought not. The Harry I’ve talked to and laughed with and played my pipes for and who has shared his past with me is more like the one I used to battle with. The one I used to have fun with. The one I used to fly around and tease and chase and run away from. That’s the man I see before me.”

Harry sighs. “Thank you. You’re really quite something, Louis.”

“I’m _amazing_. Can’t believe you’re just realizing,” he says with a grin, kicking off from the bars and coming to sit next to Harry. “So, any grand ideas on how we might get out of here?”

“What?”

“Thought with your knowledge of the ship you might have some brilliant plan. An escape hatch? A secret passageway? A weakness of some sort?”

“I hadn’t even-“

Louis scoffs. “Some pirate you are. Come on. There’s got to be something. I don’t know about you but I’d rather fight to the end and try and find a way out. Or are we just gonna sit here and wait to be fed to the sea gods?”

Harry wracks his brain, trying to come up with any possible floor in the structure of the cell or the ship at large. There are a multitude of areas that aren’t secure, but will any of them yield the escape route they need? A thump, click, thump, click comes from above in the Captain’s cabin, the tell-tale gait of Smee resounding in the quiet space as a fine spray of dust falls into the cell below. As Harry watches the particles float on the small beams of light filtering through the portholes, an idea forms in his mind.

Suddenly, he jumps to his feet, dragging one of the crates over to the centre of the cell and standing on top, the wood creaking under his weight. He steadies himself, palm on the ceiling and squints through a gap in the boards. He can’t see Smee, his figure merely casting a shadow as he moves throughout the room, but Harry knows this is it, this is their best chance.

He steps down, almost losing his balance in his haste, but a pair of firm hands are on his waist to catch him. He spins around to find himself within Louis’ embrace, a quizzical expression on his beautiful face, all the air immediately sucked from the room and Harry’s lungs. They hold each other’s gaze, for a beat too long to be considered casual, and then another, and another. Harry can’t help it as his eyes dart down to Louis’ lips and back up again, watching as Louis does the same. It feels like time is standing still, not a single sound permeating the electrified bubble that has formed around them. Harry’s hand moves without his instruction, gliding up Louis’ forearm to his elbow, trailing its way up to his bicep, his shoulder, along his collarbone, eyes never moving from Louis’ own. He feels Louis’ fingers dig into his hips, gripping more tightly, grounding Harry in the moment, his breaths coming out in short, sharp puffs which caress Harry’s chest. 

Harry is being pulled in by a force not within his control, the draw, the need, overwhelming and strong. He goes with it, unsure if he could stop himself even if he wanted to, and right now, he definitely doesn’t want to stop. He wants to feel Louis’ lips on his own, to taste him, to devour him. He wants to run his hand over his body, to explore and take and give in equal measure. He wants Louis under him, to crowd him against the wall, to tear his clothes from his small frame, hoist him up, plough into him, to hear him scream in pleasure and writhe in ecstasy with what Harry would do to him. The images are burning into his brain as his hand comes to cup Louis’ lightly stubbled jaw, thumb tracing along his chin and up to the corner of his mouth. Louis’ lips part, a soft exhale hiccupping out as his eyes remained trained on Harry’s, never wavering, never backing down. 

The sound of the door at the end of the corridor startles them apart, their moment shattered as the raucous sounds of the crew gathered in the galley spill into the corridor. Both men turn to find Cookie trudging into view with a tray holding plates of food and mugs of ale. “Evening scum,” he slurs out, clearly already drunk, and unceremoniously drops the tray to the floor before retreating, slamming the door behind him.

“Is he always like that?” Louis asks and Harry hums in response. From above them, the thud-click, thud-click of Smee’s movements sound out as he makes his way out of the Captain’s cabin and presumably down into the galley for a night of revelry.

“Yeah, surprised he hasn’t killed us with his cooking, to be honest,” Harry responds with a shrug. 

“So. Did you have an idea about how we can get out of here?” Louis asks and Harry glances over to find him stepping up on top of the crate which has the unfortunate—or perhaps fortunate—effect of lining his arse up with Harry’s face. Harry stares unabashedly until Louis clears his throat. “Do you think you could focus for five seconds on something other than my _arse_?”

Harry just slowly drags his gaze upwards and smirks. “In fairness, you keep thrusting it in my general direction. Not sure what else you expect me to do?”

Louis snorts out a laugh and focuses his attention back at the boards above. “Do you think we can get out through the ceiling? Was that your idea?”

“There’s a loose board just under the map table. Here,” Harry says and shoulders into Louis, gripping him around the thighs and picking him, kicking the crate further over with his foot before setting Louis back down again.

“What the fuck! You can’t just manhandle me like that, you great oaf!” 

“Evidence to the contrary, actually,” Harry says, the smugness oozing from his tone. “Now stop your whining.”

Louis grumbles something under his breath about Harry being a self-entitled asshole but Harry lets it slide, far too pleased with himself at the reaction it garnered to offer a response.

Louis pushes at the loose board and it lifts about an inch, still held in place by the surrounding planks. “We need something to use as a lever to prize these apart.” Louis looks around at the offerings, which are slim. “Maybe we could break apart one of the crates and use the wood?”

Harry smirks to himself. “Or we could just use this,” he says casually as he lifts his leg, planting his foot on the crate and pulling up the bottom of his trousers to reveal a dagger tucked into his boot.

Louis glares, hands on his hips. “You had this the whole time,” he deadpans. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” He shouts and punches Harry in the arm. “We could’ve been planning our escape hours ago you twat.”

“Heeeyyy,” Harry drawls out, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he rubs at his bicep. He leans down and slides the dagger from its sheath, placing it in Louis’ palm.

Louis takes it with a huff and then cocks his head. “You’re really just going to trust that I won’t stab you?”

Harry sighs. “Well, if you stab me you’ll likely never get out of here so I figured you were worth the risk.” In truth, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to doubt Louis’ intentions which gives him a moment's pause. He _should_ be more wary, is the thing. A couple of chats under the cloak of darkness and their subsequent incarceration notwithstanding, he barely knows Louis. So why does he feel so at ease?

Louis works away at the boards, prying one away from the cross beam. Harry swaps places when Louis’ arms get tired and they work together, taking turns until they’ve shifted enough of them to make room for them to climb through.

Harry lifts Louis up through the opening, getting a nice feel of his arse in the process before he passes Louis’ pipes up and then hauls himself through with Louis’ help.

It’s strange standing in the Captain’s cabin, knowing it’s no longer his, and won’t be again. His things are still everywhere, of course, and he makes a beeline for his hook, strapping it back on and feeling almost like himself again. Having Louis standing in his space is something else entirely though.

“So, you got any treasures or anything in here we should take?” Louis asks, spinning on his heel to face Harry, head cocked to the side.

Harry snorts out a laugh. “Nope. Not really anything worthy of delaying our departure anyway.”

They work together to replace the floorboards, hiding their escape route from Smee’s beady eyes. It’s not perfect, but it’s doubtful Smee will notice when he eventually lumbers in later in the evening. Harry also hopes no one goes to check on the cell, finding them missing and raising the alarm, but he knows the crew well enough to think they’d bother, far too fond of their ales and slumber to venture in there.

Once they’re done, Louis heads for the door, cracking it open slowly and peering outside to the deck. “I think the coast is clear,” he says as he turns back to look at Harry.

Harry picks up his sword, still laying where he left it last night, and sheaths it at his side, moving forward and gripping the edge of the door above Louis’ head as he steps back, ducking underneath Harry’s arm. “There’s a dinghy off the side, over there,” Harry says pointing. “We should be able to lower it down without anyone hearing and then row to shore. As long as we can make it there without Minerva noticing we should be fine.”

“Solid plan. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Harry steels himself and they make their way across the deserted deck, hunching down and listening out for any hint of danger or Minerva, but thankfully she must be with the sea gods. The crew is still making a ruckus in the galley and that, combined with the cover of night, provides them all the opportunity they need.

They reach the railing of the ship and throw the rope ladder over the side, loosening the ties and lowering the dinghy down as quickly and quietly as they can. Louis goes down first, Harry following as soon as he’s seated. It’s not a big boat, but there’s more than enough room for them. Harry’s rowing abilities are hampered by having only one hand, so they sit side-by-side and take an oar each.

Louis reels in the ropes, the seawater splashing at their feet and then pushes them away from the ship. It’s cold and dark, and it isn’t going to be the easiest task to get to the beach, but this is their only hope and their shared determination has them finding an easy rhythm in no time.

The small waves lap at the sides of the boat as they row along in silence, the revelry from the crew gradually fading into the distance with every stroke. The harbour feels all-consuming, like it could swallow them whole in an instant. Above them, the moon is barely a sliver, more like a crack in the sky than anything else, but the blanket of stars provide enough light to guide them.

It’s a fair distance to the shore, but they make good time and when Harry turns to check he sees a soft golden glow up the mountain. He suddenly realises that he hadn’t thought ahead to what would happen if they managed to escape and where they would go. Louis will naturally head to the Lost Boys, to his home, but where does that leave Harry? He has no one and nowhere to go, no home other than the one that is rapidly disappearing into the darkness that he _can_ never, and _would_ never, return to.

“You must be glad to be nearly home,” Harry murmurs above the creaking of the wood beneath them and gentle slapping of their oars as they move in and out of the water.

“Yeah. Reckon the boys will be pretty surprised when we turn up,” Louis says, nudging Harry in the shoulder.

“Mmmmm… wait. We?”

“Sure. I mean where the hell else are you gonna go?”

“I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t expect… they’re not going to be too happy to see me.”

Louis snickers. “Probably right. Zayn’ll give you the cold shoulder, Niall will be wary but he’ll come around quickly, and the others will fall in line. If they don’t like it they can suck it up or they’ll have to deal with me.”

Harry lets out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Lou,” the endearment falling easily from his lips. Louis doesn’t react to it so Harry figured he’s safe to keep going. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go, to be honest. Guess I didn’t entirely think this whole escape thing through.”

“It’s alright. Besides, that’s what the Lost Boys are all about, yeah? None of us have anyone or anywhere to go. We just have each other. We’re family.”

Harry’s gaze settles on Louis’ thigh, pressed tightly against his own, the warmth of their bodies bleeding together. He turns his head and lets his eyes wander up to Louis’ face, starlight casting his face in shadow with a silvery edge highlighting his profile. He’s just so breathtakingly beautiful and Harry is once again filled with a heat in his chest, a yearning, a deep desire, and a need to reach out and touch, to trace the dips of his collarbones, his jaw, his lips. 

“Family. Like brothers?” Harry asks, fearful of the response. He’s never felt this kind of pull to another man before but he’s certain it’s not a brotherly feeling.

Louis turns his head, mere inches away from Harry’s face. His eyes dart down to Harry’s lips and back up again. “Sure. Something like that,” he says, vague and leaving room for interpretation, but Harry will take whatever glimmer of hope he can get. 

A small grin tugs at the corner of Louis’ mouth as he turns to look behind them. Harry mirrors his movement and realises that they’re nearly there. They glide through the small waves, the sound of them breaking on the beach becoming more apparent with each stroke. Soon they’re close enough to the shore to jump out and they drag the dinghy up onto the sand.

“We should get this out of sight,” Harry pants out. “Once the crew realizes we’re gone they’ll come looking and we don’t want to give them any help in finding us.”

“Good call,” Louis says and they drag the boat up over the sand dunes and into the trees.

They stop and rest for a moment, catching their breaths as they lean up against a hollow log. “We’re going to have to come up with a plan for what to do about this whole mess,” Harry says, stretching out his back.

“Yeah,” Louis says with a long sigh. “But that can be tomorrow's problem. Let’s just get home and deal with that whole... thing…” He waves his hand around in the air and Harry chuckles.

“Mmmm… that whole… _thing_.”

“It’s going to be _fine_. Really,” Louis says and lays his hand on Harry’s forearm, giving it a little squeeze. “Hey. Look at me.” Harry raises his gaze and finds only kindness in Louis’ eyes. “It’ll be an adjustment for everyone but just trust me, yeah?”

Harry smiles and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do trust you. Thanks, Lou.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” Louis says and pushes off the log. “I could murder an ale.”

Harry gets to his feet and follows Louis out of the trees and onto the track, falling in step behind him as they make their way toward a future Harry could never have envisioned only a day earlier. He just hopes that a few ales are all that's going to be murdered.


	3. The Piper

The dry leaves and sticks crackle under Louis’ boots as he leads them toward the treehouse, Harry’s footsteps heavy behind him, and his own worries even heavier in his head. He knows he’s doing the right thing and that the boys will come around once he explains the situation, but it’s not going to be easy.

He’d made peace with sacrificing himself to save the others; one life in exchange for the many seeming to be a more than reasonable trade. But once he’d realized the depth of Minerva’s evil and the spells she had cast over Harry and the crew, he knew it wouldn’t end with him. The sea gods would never be satisfied, not while there was a plentiful supply of Lost Boys and villagers, and a willing Minerva to deliver them new offerings, it wouldn’t end until they were decimated.

A new plan had to be put into action, one that would require defeating Minerva once and for all. Now he just has to convince the boys to get on board.

Harry stumbles behind him, cursing under his breath. “ _Shit_. Lou, wait.”

Louis stops and turns in the small clearing, the stars shining brightly down upon them and painting Harry with a shimmery glow. “Y’alright?”

“Can we just talk? Before we get there, I just… I just want to be prepared for what I’m walking into.”

He looks worried, unsure, nervously pulling at his bottom lip as his gaze meets Louis’. All the air is suddenly sucked from Louis’ lungs, the sheer beauty of the man before him overwhelming. “Uhm… sure,” he says and motions toward a large, flat rock jutting out from the hillside, just enough room for them both to sit.

Harry draws his hook up and down his thigh, the material of his trousers giving under the sharp point. “What’s the plan? I mean, like, what are you going to say?”

“Well, I thought I’d go with the truth. Always the best idea in my experience.”

“Lou, I’m serious,” Harry says, his solemn tone underscoring his words. The nickname Harry has taken to calling him still sending a flutter in his stomach.

Louis turns to face him, finding Harry already staring back. “So am I. The boys will see reason, eventually.”

Harry doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he lets it go and continues. “And after that? What’s our plan for Minerva and the crew? She’ll send the after us, she’s not going to just give up.”

“Well, we’re going to have to fight. We’ve got the numbers, plus… we’ve got a secret weapon,” Louis says with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“We’ve got you.”

Harry shoulders slump at Louis’ words and he looks away, staring out into the night, only the rustle of the leaves in the trees above to fill the silence. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his boot. “I… I don’t think I’ll be of much use.”

“Sure you will,” Louis says, unsure of Harry’s trepidation. “You’re a skilled swordsman and you know the ship and the crew like the back of your hand.”

“It’s just… the spell.”

Louis furrows his brow in confusion. “But you're fine now.”

“Yeah, but only because I’m with _you_. As soon as we’re apart it takes over again. You’re like, I dunno, an antidote or something.”

“Well, that’s a simple fix,” Louis says and lays his hand on Harry’s thigh, giving it a pat. “You’ll just have to stay glued to me then. At least until we can sort out a more permanent solution. Pretty sure once she’s dealt with all the spells will be broken.”

Louis watches as Harry’s gaze drops to where Louis is now rubbing his thumb over his knee. Eyes trailing back up to meet Louis’. “Alright. Yeah. That works for me.”

Louis stands and waits for Harry to gather himself. He reaches out his hand and Harry takes it, running his thumb over Louis’ knuckles but he doesn’t make a move to get up. “Hey. Where’s my big brave pirate?” Louis asks, trying to keep the fondness out of his voice but suspecting he’s failed miserably.

Harry looks up at him, worry etched on his face. “Don’t feel very big and brave right now.”

“Nonsense. It’s going to be fine,” Louis chides but even as the words tumble from his lips, he’s having trouble believing them. Still, he has to bury those uncertainties for now. “The boys are going to be surprised, for sure, and no doubt wary, but that will pass. Anyway, we won’t know until we get there so let’s, you know, _get_ there.”

“Not a fan of surprises, Lou.”

“Yeah? Well, not much we can do about that, Harold. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go in first and try and placate them before you make your grand entrance.”

“Grand entrance?” Harry muses, quirking his brow.

“Mhmmmm… you’re uhm… quite a lot to take in. All…” he trails off, waving his free hand around in the space between them. Harry stands and the distance between them disappears, bodies flush, Harry’s heady scent filling his senses.

“All…?” Harry prompts, his breath fanning out across Louis’ face. He imagines the flush that he knows is there, how it must look in the starlight, rosy red on the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, you know, all... dark and broody and mysterious…” Louis looks up into Harry’s eyes and the rest of the words catch in his throat. He coughs to cover up the heavy emotion but it’s too late. Harry smirks at him and Louis huffs and rolls his eyes before swatting him in the chest. “Come on, then. Time's-a-wasting and we have a bunch of grumpy, untrusting Lost Boys to _surprise_.”

Louis lets go of Harry’s hand and darts off back to the track, Harry’s groan fading into the background.

They walk on in silence and Louis runs through the upcoming conversation in his head, trying to get the pitch just right to bring the Lost Boys up to speed as quickly as possible. All too soon the forest thins and the smell of smoke from the nightly bonfire seeps into his nostrils. He knows the boys will all be there, going through the motions like they’ve done every night for years, ales-a-plenty and familiar stories being told.

The amber light from the bonfire comes into view just past the edge of the tree line, all the boys sitting around on the logs and upturned crates, mood sombre and nursing their mugs. Louis turns, halting Harry’s steps. “Alright,” he whispers, taking off his pipes and handing them to Harry. “You stay here and I’ll call for you when the time is right, okay?”

Harry nods and steps off to the side behind a large tree, leaning up against it and crossing his legs at the ankles, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt.

Louis allows himself a moment to collect himself, taking a deep breath, Harry’s encouraging smile and tilt of his chin the final impetus he needs.

Louis spins around covers the final distance quickly, moving out into the open. “Aye up, boys. Spare a mug for a thirsty escapee?”

Eight pairs of eyes are suddenly upon him, gasps and hoots and hollers ringing out through the quiet forest. 

“Louis!” Niall shrieks, jumping up and running full-pelt toward him, the other boys following behind.

Soon he’s enveloped in a crushing sea of limbs and being jostled about until they all fall into a heap on the ground. Punches and pinches and kisses and hugs swamping him until he can barely breathe.

“Get _off_ me you losers,” Louis chides, trying to extricate himself as best he can before they eventually let up enough and all haul themselves to their feet.

Questions and exclamations come in quickfire. “How did you escape?” “Did you kill all them bastards?” “Did you sink the ship?” “Thought you were a goner for sure!” “Didn’t think we’d ever see you again!” “You’re a cunning prick!” “Should’ve never doubted you!”

As the crowd of boys clear, Louis’ gaze lands on Zayn, the only one who had held himself back. Zayn walks toward him, stopping arms length away, and they stare each other down, eye-to-eye, the fire crackling beside them offering the only sound to fill the emptiness.

“Zayn,” Louis says curtly.

“So you escaped?” Zayn asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis places his hands on his hips in his customary defiant stance. “Seems so.”

“Right,” Zayn says, narrowing his eyes, jaw clenched tight. 

As expected, Zayn’s not giving him in an inch. The other boys have gotten caught up in the excitement but Louis can see that Zayn has joined the dots and he’s rightfully pissed. Louis returning means that the crew from the ship to follow, and for all Zayn knows, Captain Hook as well. But he doesn’t have all the information. He doesn’t know that Louis was just the first in what would be a long line of sacrifices. He doesn’t know that the entire crew from the Jolly Roger has been under Minerva’s spell, and if they deal with her, they can hopefully free them all. He doesn’t know that Captain Hook is no more, and in his place is Harry; kind, sweet, funny Harry who helped Louis escape and who is their secret weapon in the upcoming battle.

“I know what you’re thinking. Trust me, I know,” Louis says and Zayn scoffs at him but he continues regardless. “Just listen for a minute and let me explain. I learned a few things on the ship. Firstly, I was set to be sacrificed to the sea gods courtesy of Minerva, which is a pretty miserable end but if that was it, and it stopped there, it wouldn’t have been so bad. The thing is, I wouldn’t have been the last. They’re hungry and she would’ve continued capturing more and more of you to feed them. It was never going to stop with me,” Louis pauses as the Lost Boys gasp in shock around them.

“Secondly,” Louis continues. “She’s cast a spell over Hook and the crew, and it’s been like that for years, since before I was banished. None of them are in their right minds or have much of an idea of what they’re doing. She’s got them under her complete control.”

Zayn furrows his brows and shifts his feet, loosening his posture slightly, he’s clearly not convinced yet but he motions with a tilt of his head for Louis to go on.

“Once I learned what my fate was to be, I realised I had to do something. This won’t end until she’s taken everyone. Do you want to always be living in fear? Never knowing what she's going to do and always looking over your shoulder, worried when or who she'll strike next?”

The boys murmur lowly and Zayn pulls at his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger, eyes cast down as he considers Louis’ words. He looks up and lets his arms drop to his sides. “What are you suggesting then? That we take them all on? Minerva and the crew and Hook? You’re mad. Hook is too good of a swordsman, none of us can best him, not even you, not without your magic.”

Louis smiles. “Yeah, so about that,” he says, and glances around at the rest of the boys who have moved in closer. “You wanted to know how I managed to escape?”

The boys all nod, hanging off Louis’ every word as Zayn eyes him warily. Louis steps back, putting some distance between himself and the rest of them, edging closer to the tree line where Harry is hiding. 

Louis turns his head and sees him, trepidation clear in his expression. He turns back to the boys. “ _This_ is how.”

Harry emerges from his hiding spot and there’s a moment, albeit brief, when time seems to hang suspended, not a breath, not a movement. The shift happens in slow motion, the boys surging forward as one, expressions rabid, ferocious. Louis backs up, arms out wide, protecting Harry from the onslaught.

“Get him!” Niall and Shawn shout in unison.

Louis stands his ground. “No! Stop! He’s on our side!”

The boys freeze, confusion on their faces as they’re poised to strike, looking from Louis to Harry and back to Zayn for instruction.

“Stand down, boys,” Zayn says firmly and the boys ease off, still at the ready to launch into an attack. “You’ve got some fucking explaining to do, Louis.”

“I know,” Louis says, lowering his arms. “Everyone just take a breath and sit, yeah?”

The tension in the air is palpable as the boys take up their spots around the fire once more, all facing Louis and Harry, Zayn staying standing, eyes narrowed.

Louis steels himself, reaching back with his hand and guiding Harry forward to position him at his side, Harry’s hand coming to rest on Louis’ lower back reassuringly. He finds the gesture grounding and his fortitude returns, clearing his throat he begins.

“This is a shock, I get it-“

“Too fucking right, mate,” Niall scoffs.

“The last couple of days have been a whirlwind, trust me, I know,” Louis says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Two days ago I was happily going about my business, working in the cafe with Liam, one day blending into the next. And then I was plucked from that life and returned here. I was so happy to be back, but that didn’t last long. Finding out I was to be sent to my doom in place of six of you plus ten of the villagers wasn’t exactly a moment of jubilation. But I got over it,” he says with a sigh, some of the Lost Boys looking down to their laps, guilt written over their faces. “And I was okay with it, honestly. I’d do anything for you, you’re my family, my brothers.”

A murmur of thanks and acknowledgment rumbles around the group. At least they’ve calmed down somewhat so Louis forges on. “I was sitting in that dark gloomy cell, not knowing what my fate was and wishing so badly to be anywhere else, when someone came to bring me food. They kept themselves hidden in the darkness and stayed to talk. It didn’t take me long to work out who it was…”

Louis glances up at Harry who still hasn’t spoken, just a fond smile playing on his lips as he nods encouragingly for Louis to continue. “He thought he was being clever, using his _regular_ voice, not his _pirate_ voice, but he’s not particularly convincing. After he left I thought long and hard about why he’d come, what his motives may have been, and at first I thought he was playing a trick, trying to get information out of me, but there seemed to be no nefarious intent behind it. Then next night, he came back again…”

Harry steps closer, winding his hand around Louis’ waist and pressing their sides together. “I couldn’t keep away,” Harry says, shocked looks appearing on the boy's faces upon hearing him speak for the first time. “When I was with Louis the fog clouding my brain cleared and I could think for the first time in years. All the things I’d done, all the horrible things…” Harry trails off and Louis slides his arm under Harry’s coat and around his waist to support him, nodding for Harry to keep going. “As we talked, I realised what Minerva had done, the spell she had cast. We talked and he played his pipes for me. So beautiful, like a soothing balm for my broken soul. He listened and was so, so kind. I hadn’t- I hadn’t spoken to anyone like that in a long time. I was so at peace and relaxed that I fell asleep. The next morning the crew found me and hauled me up on deck to face Minerva,” Harry spits out, shivering at his own memory. “She handed down the same fate to me as had been planned for Louis… A sacrifice for the sea gods. I was stripped of my Captains title and thrown in the cell along with Louis. We spent the day talking and sleeping-“

“Well _you_ slept,” Louis interrupts and Harry chuckles beside him. “ _I_ stayed awake trying to devise a plan to escape knowing that if we didn’t, Minerva and the crew would come after you all and feed you to the monsters of the deep until every last one of you was gone.”

“How _did_ you escape?” Niall asks, gaze not shifting from Harry.

“There was a loose board on the floor of my Captains cabin, just above the cell. We got out through there, then rowed the dinghy to shore.”

Zayn eyes them warily. “How do we know this isn’t a trick? Why aren’t you under Minerva’s spell anymore?”

“There’s something- I don’t know really… Something about being close to Louis cancels it out. That’s one of the reasons why I went back the second night, to make sure it was real. I can’t explain it, I just know that when I’m with him, it’s like this weight is lifted and I can think properly and remember things. It’s like…” Harry says and looks down at Louis, eyes burning into his very soul. “It’s like I’m free.”

Zayn hums and draws Louis' gaze. He regards them both, eyes darting between them, from their faces to where their arms are wound around each other tightly. He gives a short nod and then turns and walks to the far side of the fire. “Huddle up, boys!”

The Lost Boys scramble to their feet and join Zayn in a circle, arms resting on each other’s shoulders and heads hung low.

“Is that good or bad?” Harry asks.

“Good, I think. You did great, by the way. Very open and honest, heartfelt.”

“Just telling it like it is, Lou.”

“We break!” Comes the familiar shout from across the way indicating the end of their discussion, the boys trailing behind Zayn as he walks back toward them. Louis feels Harry stiffen beside him, breath held. 

Zayn comes to a stop before them. “So we’ve agreed that this is an unusual situation, and we’re not entirely convinced of your motives, but it seems as though we have little choice but to trust you... for now,” he says and reaches out his hand. Harry slides his hand into Zayn’s grip and they shake. “Don’t make me regret this or I’ll gut you like a fish and string your innards up as decorative art. Welcome to the team,” he finishes with a wry grin.

Louis glowers at his friend but Harry just chuckles. “I feel very welcomed, thank you. And I’ll try not to disappoint you. Kind of like my innards where they are, to be honest.”

They drop hands and Zayn nods. “Right. We need a plan. Let’s put that inside information to good use.”

The next hour or so is spent in preparation mode, Harry drawing a map of the ship and sharing the details of the layout and weak points. He and Zayn work well together; Zayn always having been skilled at planning raids.

The ultimate goal of the attack is to draw Minerva out so she can be dealt with, breaking the spells and freeing Harry and the crew once and for all. and hopefully returning Niall and Louis’ magic too. They’d considered various options, but agreed they needed to use the element of surprise, so a pre-dawn raid on the ship was decided.

Neutralizing the crew won’t be an easy task. Harry explains that one of the sleeping quarters is relatively easy to barricade, although it likely won’t hold for long. The other quarters aren’t as simple, so they determine that one will have to be enough and they’ll take their chances in battle with the remaining half of the crew.

For his part, Louis hovers around providing input where required and fetching ales for the thirsty team. He’s at the barrel getting refills, mind wandering as he watches Harry from afar, when Niall comes up alongside.

“You sure _you’re_ not under some kind of fucking spell, mate?” Niall asks, jutting his chin toward where Harry and Zayn are hunched over the map of the ship.

“What?”

“You can’t take your bloody eyes off of him.”

The blush that rampages up Louis’ chest and neck takes him by surprise and he falters, words getting stuck on his tongue. He manages to grunt out something unintelligible which doesn’t help his cause in any way.

Niall grins smugly. “Thought as much.”

“It’s not- it’s just-“

“Just what? Listen. I’m happy for you, yeah? Harry seems nice, now that he’s not being all piratey and trying to run a sword through my gut. And he seems equally as smitten with you.”

Louis chokes on his spit. “He- he does?”

“Course he is. He’s barely taken his hand or eyes off you all night, keeps checking where you are… when he isn’t plastered to your side, that is.”

Louis groans and throws his head back, staring up into the tree tops and watching as the smoke winds its way into the sky. “He’s like no one I’ve ever met before,” he says wistfully.

Niall hums in acknowledgment. “Just… be careful, yeah? Relationships that start under dramatic circumstances aren’t always the best idea.”

“Yeah, I know, and we aren’t even anything yet, other than friends, but I can’t help but feel a deep connection with him. He’s just… He’s nothing like I’d imagined, you know? He’s a good man, under all of that outward bravado. A bit broken too. He’s had a tough life.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot in common then,” Niall says sagely.

Louis lowers his head just as Harry looks up, gaze wandering until it lands on Louis, making his blush reignite. Harry smiles broadly and Louis returns it in kind. “Yeah. Yeah, we have.”

“You two are gross. I’m gonna go find a bush to vomit into,” Niall chuckles and takes his leave, heading back over to sit by Steve.

Louis finishes filling his and Harry’s mugs and wanders back over, setting Harry’s on the crate and standing back, listening in to their battle planning.

It’s fairly simple, as far as attacks go, Harry’s knowledge of the ship, and the crew's locations and movements, aiding in setting them up with their best shot at success. Minerva is the wild card though. If she’s there when they arrive, they’ll have to think quickly and change tack.

Once the plan is locked in, they all decide to try and get a few hours sleep, taking up spots around the fire so they’re ready to embark.

Louis takes Harry to wash up and grab some food to keep their energy up. They kick their boots off and settle down together, Harry’s coat acting as a makeshift pillow for them both.

“You scared?” Louis asks, turning on his side to face Harry.

Harry rolls over and slides his hands under his cheek to prop himself up, the firelight casting a golden halo around his head. “Would you think any less of me if I said I was?”

“Not at all. I mean, I am. But I’m excited too, I think?”

Harry smiles. “Same here. I just want to take her down so badly. She’s done a lot of terrible things and I want us all to be free of her spells and ensure she can’t hurt anyone again.”

“Do you think it’s going to work?”

“Yeah, I do. I just hope we can manage it without too much bloodshed.”

“It’s going to be fine, you’ll see. We have a good plan and a willing team,” Louis says, as much to convince himself as Harry. “Sleep now. We need our rest.”

Harry nods and closes his eyes. Louis watches him for a minute, features smoothing as he relaxes, breaths evening out with the steady rise and fall of his chest. He lets his eyes fall shut, willing himself to drift away, hoping against hope that they make it through.

It’s going to be a long night and an even longer day.

~*~

The harbour is eerily calm as they come up alongside the ship, only the sound of the small waves lapping at the hull to break the silence. There’s a fog floating heavily on the water, shrouding them and providing cover just as they had hoped.

Harry had assured them that none of the crew are early risers when the ship is anchored, tending more toward merriment in the evenings and long lie-ins until their grumbling stomachs forced them out of their quarters. 

Louis and Harry are once again in the dinghy, the other boys split across a canoe and a raft. They don’t exactly give the impression of a force to be reckoned with, their attack squad numbering only ten, but they’re a scrappy lot, battle ready and, of course, they have Harry. 

They all have their own part to play in the plan. Niall, Steve and Adam will barricade the second of the two sleeping quarters where the younger, and more skilled fighters sleep, while Zayn, Shawn and Calum will follow Harry to raid the armory. Louis will stay on deck with Kieran and Blake, the biggest and strongest of the Lost Boys, keeping watch for Minerva and securing the wheel platform as a protected position from which they can launch.

It’s not particularly detailed, but once the crew wake up it’s going to be a free for all, so they’re just going to have to react and trust their skills and each other.

They guide the dinghy to the bow of the ship and Louis uses the ropes to secure it in place. “You ready?” Harry whispers when Louis turns to look at him. His eyes wide, the golden flecks shining as they reflect the breaking dawn.

Louis nods and reaches out, gripping onto Harry's knee. “Yeah, let’s do this,” he says softly but surely. 

Louis makes his way up the rope ladder first, quietly lifting himself up and over the railing, dropping silently into a crouch as Harry follows behind. They watch as the other boys creep up and over onto the deck from both sides, hand gestures their only form of communication now.

Louis is about to make a move when Harry reaches out for his hand. Louis looks up and is met with a worried expression. “Be careful,” Harry says, barely audible. “I don’t want… I don’t want to lose you.”

Louis smiles and squeezes Harry's hand, damp and clammy with sweat and seawater. “You won’t. We’re going to be okay. As soon as you’ve got the weapons, we’ll just stick together. Keep Minerva and her spell at bay, yeah?”

Harry nods. “Alright. See you soon,” he says and then let’s go of Louis' hand, making his way across the deck to collect the others and head down into the galley.

Louis moves quickly and meets Kieran and Blake on the wheel platform, the three men keeping low and trying to stay out of sight. They wait on tenterhooks for the chaos that’s about to unfold as the sun peeks over the horizon, shadows creeping ominously over the ship.

It feels like it takes an age, but finally Harry and the others emerge, weapons in hand with extras for the other boys; swords and daggers of all manner. Niall and his team are next, but just as the last of them reappear from the door to the Captain's cabin swings open and Smee stands before them, mouth agape. 

They all freeze, time hanging on a breath in the calm before the storm.

It’s Harry who moves first, swift and sure, launching a sword across the deck with a shout. “Lou!”

Louis snatches it out of the air as two more swords fly toward them, Kieran and Blake grabbing them and striking fighting stances.

“Attack!!” Smee cries, grabbing the rope hanging from the bell next to the Captain’s quarters and sounding the alarm for the rest of the crew.

Harry leaps into action, quickly transversing the deck, feet light across the slippery boards, and scaling the few steps up to where Smee stands. Harry shoves him back into the cabin and uses the dagger from his boot to wedge the door closed. He spins around and gives Louis a wink as half the crew scramble up on deck, looking bleary-eyed and disheveled, swords at the ready, and confusion and shock written on their faces.

It only takes mere seconds for the battle to build to full force; swords clanging, shouts and hollers ringing out.

Louis stands his ground, allowing the pirates to come to him, Kieran and Blake at his back, fending off pirate after pirate. From their raised platform, Louis can see the war raging on deck below; Adam already knocked out but seemingly okay.

Louis ducks and weaves, catching one pirate off guard and pushing him over the railing, hearing the splash as he hits the water, closely followed by a litany of curses.

It’s complete chaos and he hears Niall cry out but when he turns to look he can’t see him. Louis’ attention is drawn away by a surge of more pirates from below deck, the barricades for the second sleeping quarters having presumably been broken down.

After that, things take a turn for the worse. Harry is fighting off four pirates at a time, Zayn has three on him, Louis has three as well, Steve with two, and Shawn is mounting a valiant effort halfway up the main mast. But Adam is still unconscious, Kieran is knocked out now too, Blake has a stab wound in his leg and Calum has a head wound, rendering them unable to fight, and Niall is still nowhere to be seen.

They fight long and hard, holding their ground as best they can, but when a piercing screech rings through the air, they all freeze.

Minerva rises up above them, the blue-ish glow highlighting her disgusting features. “Enough!” She screams, cold and ear splitting. 

She slowly drifts down to the deck, Louis watching her movements, and that’s the moment Louis’ heart stops in his chest.

There, standing in the centre of the deck, is Niall. But most horrifyingly of all, in front of him, on his knees, is Liam, head tilted back with Niall holding a dagger at his throat.

Louis can’t process what he’s seeing. It makes no sense. Liam can’t be here in Neverland and why is he Niall’s prisoner? It’s impossible, ridiculous.

“Liam! Niall! What the fuck?” Louis yells, but it’s then that he sees the vacant stare in Niall’s eyes and all the pieces slot into place. Minerva must have snatched him earlier, which is why Louis lost track of him, and then put him under a spell and sent him to the Other World to retrieve Liam. Now, she’s presumably going to use Liam as a bargaining tool to get to Louis. That fucking evil bitch.

“Pan, Hook, I summon you,” Minerva says, a chill running down Louis’ spine. He darts a glance over to Harry who is bailed up against the side of the ship, five swords drawn on him. The pirates lower their swords and Harry pushes himself off the railing, looking up at Louis with a confused expression on his face.

The pirates in front of Louis peel back and make way for him to pass and he steps down onto the deck, coming to stand next to Harry and in front of Niall and Liam as Minerva hovers off to the side.

Smee is released from the Captain’s quarters as the rest of the Lost Boys are rounded up and surrounded by the crew. Louis tries to keep his defiant stance, but he knows they’ve failed. It’ll take a miracle to get out of this alive now.

Liam is trembling, hands fisted at his sides and sweat bearing at his temples, still wearing his flour-covered apron. Louis wants to reach out to him, to tell him everything will be okay, to reassure him that they’ll get out of this, but he can’t do that because things are looking grim.

Minerva glides closer, leaning in close to Louis. “Did you really think you could beat me? With your pathetic little battle? And that sniveling idiot,” she says, motioning towards Niall. “Sent him to the Other World to bring back the thing most important to you and look at what he found. Another sacrifice for the sea gods. Weak minded fools, the lot of you.”

Minerva shifts around to behind Harry and he shudders at her proximity. “Traitor. Filthy traitor,” she murmurs in his ear. “Thought you could escape my spell did you? Thought you could deny the sea gods their sacrifices?”

Louis watches as Harry’s eyes start to glaze over, with every passing second the Harry he has come to know disappears and is replaced by Hook. He narrows his eyes and draws his sword, turning to face Louis. He takes a step back and then another, bringing the tip of his sword up under Louis chin.

Louis gasps, staring into Hook’s eyes, hoping with all his heart that there will still be a trace of Harry, his Harry, kind and gentle, but he finds none. No mercy. No compassion. Harry is gone.

“Excellent,” Minerva says, voice thick with a heavy darkness, the evil from within her oozing out. “Smee! We sail. Time to feed the sea gods their sacrifices. Prisoners over there.” Minerva raises her bony arm, long yellowed nails pointing toward the stern of the ship. The crew move without further instruction, quickly disarming the Lost Boys before dragging and prodding them into a huddle, on their knees, standing guard around them.

Hook lowers his sword as two of the crew grab Louis from behind and haul him over to his friends, shoving him down onto the deck. He rights himself just as Liam, and a dazed looking Niall, are jostled over and given the same treatment.

Once everyone is together, most of the crew head off, readying the ship to set sail, just two armed pirates left to watch over them.

Louis pulls Liam into a tight hug, rubbing his hands up and down his back. “Li, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Liam trembles in his arms. “What the fuck? No! No, I’m not okay.” He withdraws abruptly from Louis’ embrace, fear and confusion clear in his expression. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“Right. Uhm,” Louis says, trying to find the words to explain the situation. “Well, you see-“

“Fucking spit it out, Lou,” Liam hisses, eyes darting around to take in his surrounds.

Louis sighs. How exactly does he explain this? He decides on honesty. It’s not like Liam can be any more freaked out than he already is.

“This is Neverland. It’s another world. This is where I came from before we met. You’ve been brought here by Minerva, that bitch of an evil Siren, essentially as bait to get me to surrender. Niall, who came and got you…” Louis says and looks over Liam’s shoulder to find Zayn trying to snap Niall out of the spell. “He’s one of us, but Minerva had him under her control.”

Louis stops and waits for Liam to process what he’s just said, watching the gears turn in his head as he tries to make sense of the chaos he’s been dropped into. Louis glances over to Hook, standing still, hand resting on the railing and looking out at the open ocean. Louis’ heart clenches, wanting so desperately to run to him and wrap him in his arms but he knows that’s no longer an option. 

“Another world?” Liam asks, perplexed, eyes stormy.

So Louis talks and Liam sits and listens, the tale wild and unbelievable, even to Louis’ ears although it’s the story of his own life. He tells him about the Lost Boys, their play fighting with Hook and the crew when they were younger, about Minerva’s arrival and how things changed, his banishment to the Other World, his return and his imprisonment. He tells him about Harry too, not all of it, not his growing feelings, but of their friendship and how when Harry was near him he came out from under Minerva’s spell, and how they’d planned the attack to free them all from Minerva once and for all. 

Liam is quiet at first, taking it all in, but soon he is interjecting with a barrage of questions, some Louis can answer easily, but for others he doesn’t have the memories or words to provide Liam with satisfactory explanations. He can’t explain how he and the other Lost Boys first came to the island, and they have no clear memories of where they were before. They had each simply appeared on the beach, one by one, the only commonality had been that they all needed a home and a family.

“So you’re all kind of like... orphans?” Liam asks after a long moment of contemplation.

“Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“Like me?”

Louis chuckles to himself, laying his hand on Liam’s thigh and giving it a squeeze. “Yeah, Li. Like you.”

“And now we’re all going to be sent to our death as sacrifices for the sea gods?”

Louis scrunches up his nose, sucking the air through his teeth. “Uhm… yeah, seems so.”

“Shit. Would’ve liked to get to know everyone, and this place, a bit more.”

“You’re taking this awfully well,” Louis says and furrows his brows.

Liam shrugs his shoulder. “Not much we can do about it really. I mean it sucks, big time, but like, there’s always a chance we’ll get out of it, right? This being a magical place and all that?”

“Mmmm… I like your optimism, and yeah, there’s always a chance,” Louis says, his gaze wandering back to Hook, still standing at the railing. He sways back and forth with the motion of the ship as it makes its way through the waves, minute by minute bringing them closer to their demise. He wonders if Minerva will spare him now that he’s back under her spell or whether she will dispense with him regardless. 

“He was more than a friend, wasn’t he,” Liam says, more of a statement than a question.

Louis turns back to Liam, finding a small smirk playing on his lips. He could lie, deny Liam’s inference, but to what end? They’re going to be chucked to their deaths soon enough, he may as we’ll be honest. “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

“Do you love him?”

Louis sputters and nearly chokes on his tongue. “Ease up, mate. Love’s a strong word. Sure, we got along well as friends and I’ll admit there was definitely a spark. I like him. A lot, probably. But it doesn’t matter now.”

Liam beams at him as a blush rampages up Louis’ neck. “Awwww, Lou’s got a crush.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says and shoves a cackling Liam over onto his side.

As Liam rights himself, Niall crawls over to sit between them eyeing Liam nervously, still a bit groggy but basically back to normal. “Hey Liam. Listen, I’m so sorry about… well, about everything.”

“That’s alright, mate, not your fault. You were under Minerva’s spell, you couldn’t help it.”

Niall sighs. “Thanks, buddy. Appreciate that. So… are we teasing Louis about his little infatuation? Can I get in on the action?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I hate you both.”

He lets Niall and Liam chat, their conversation filtering in and out as he tries to think of a plan to avoid their rapidly encroaching date with the depths of the ocean. There aren’t a lot of options, certainly not this far from land and not with the injuries they’ve sustained; none are life threatening, but it has rendered a couple of them unable to fight. Their weapons are gone, the crew isn’t giving them an inch, and Minerva is hovering just off to the side of the ship as they barrel towards the drop. 

He stares at Hook’s back, still unmoving and in a trance-like state. If only there was a way to get through to him, to bring Harry back.

Zayn shuffles over and slots up beside Louis. “Any bright ideas?” He asks, nudging Louis with his shoulder, the sun beating down on them as a flock of sea birds squawk above.

“Nope,” Louis says with a shake of his head. “You?”

“Nah, man. Reckon they’ve got us this time.”

“Fuck. There’s gotta be something. After all these years I can’t believe it’s gonna end like this.”

“You never know,” Zayn says with a shrug. “We’re about due a miracle, don’t you think?”

Louis turns to face him, finding a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He could tell him miracles aren’t real, or that hopes aren’t always enough, or that being in the right doesn’t always guarantee a win, but instead he just nods along. “Yeah. We are.”

They sit in silence, the marker rock getting ominously closer with every second that ticks by. It won’t be long now.

A flash of metal catches Louis’ eye and he turns to see Hook looking back at him, brows furrowed, like he’s straining to think, to remember. Louis’ heart beats louder in his chest. _Come on, Harry._ But then Hook closes his eyes and when he opens them again, the vacant stare is back. Louis clings to it though. Against all the odds, maybe there really is hope after all.

He’s startled from his thoughts as the crew moves into action with a flurry of activity. They ease the sails and bring the ship around before dropping the anchor off the bow. Smee supervises as the plank is set into the slot off the starboard side, Hook stepping back to make way and Minerva hovering on the other side of the plank opposite him, an almost gleeful expression on her haggard face.

The crew crowds around, ready for the show, as Minerva’s gaze lands on Louis, her black eyes narrowing as she snarls at him. “Pan! He will be our first sacrifice!”

Hook snaps his head up and there’s a pained expression on his face, as though there's some sort of turmoil going on inside him, but it fades as quickly as it had appeared.

Smee walks over, his peg leg sounding like a death knell as it knocks on the deck, every step closer meaning Louis’ time is nearly up.

The two crew who had been guarding them move aside, Smee pointing his sword at Louis to stand. He gets to his feet, shoulders back, eyes shooting daggers. “Our first sacrifice,” Smee says, words dripping with evil.

He motions to Louis and he turns, the other boys leaping to their feet to hug him, anger and grief mixing as they say their farewells.

Louis breaks away before he becomes overwhelmed, giving them reassuring pats and nods, trying to hold himself together for just a little longer. He spins around and walks forward, images from his life flashing in his brain. He’s had a good run, all things considered; his time in Neverland, with Liam in the Other World, and even the last couple of days with Harry. There’s so much to be grateful for, and whilst this isn’t the end he might’ve hoped for, he guesses it could always be worse.

He steps up onto the end of the plank, slippery under his boots as Smee’s sword digs into his back. He makes his way partly down the length of the board to the point where the railing runs underneath, just one more step and he’ll be on the overhang with the ocean beneath him. He peers over the side, the swirling sea marking the point where the sea gods reside. 

“Any last words?” Smee asks and Louis turns, glancing from him, to the crew, all eager for the show to begin, shouts and jeers coming from the main deck and up the masts, more hanging out of the crow’s nest and off the shrouds; every vantage point occupied. 

He looks over to the boys, trying desperately to think of something to say that will ease their fear but he comes up short. He just smiles and nods at them in lieu of a goodbye, hoping that conveys all the love he feels for them.

Finally, his gaze lands on Hook. He stands motionless, one arm hanging loosely at his side, his hook at the end, the other cocked at the elbow, hand resting on his sword. His mouth is set in a firm line, eyes glazed over, vacant, his soul in limbo. But Louis knows Harry’s still in there, somewhere, clawing to get out. He just has to find the trigger to break the spell.

Proximity to Louis hadn’t, on its own, been enough to keep the spell at bay for Harry when Minerva was right there, but maybe… maybe there’s a way to increase the effect, even just for a moment. That’s all they need, a few precious seconds. 

He stares at Hook, imploring him with his eyes. _Please, Harry, come back to me._ But he gets nothing in return. Louis is about to turn away, resigned to his fate in the murky depths of the ocean below, and then he sees it. The fingers on Hook’s hand that are draped over the hilt of his sword move. It’s barely a twitch, but it’s there. Louis’ eyes dart back up to Harry’s face and there he finds the smallest crease between his brows, barely visible, but there nonetheless.

Smee prods him again, puncturing his shirt and pricking his skin. Louis knows it’s now or never. He’s got one last chance to save himself, to save Liam and the Lost Boys, to save Harry.

With all the courage he can muster, and with all the strength he has left in his muscles, he jumps toward Hook, landing sure-footed in front of him. He surges up, pulling him down by his neck and crashes their lips together.

Time seems to stand still as a bolt of electricity fires through his bloodstream, igniting him from within. Static rushes in his ears, loud, powerful. Hook pulls back and gasps, sucking in air like a drowning man finally breaching the surface of the water. Louis searches Hook’s face as his eyes come to life, the blackness replaced with the most beautiful green Louis has ever seen.

“Lou,” he breathes out as a smile spreads across his face.

“Harry,” Louis says on an exhale.

The next few seconds pass in a blur. Gasps from the crew and the boys, Harry’s expression replaced by one of pure rage, the sound of a blade being unsheathed, Harry pushing Louis aside, and finally, a guttural shriek from Minerva. 

Louis turns to find Harry’s sword buried deep inside her, lifting her up into the air, black blood oozing down the length of his blade. Her eyes are wide in shock, mouth open, the most hideous screams filling the space around them. The sea churns, dark clouds descend, lightning cracks across the sky and then she’s floating into the sky, limbs hanging lifeless at her sides.

A roll of thunder, deep and bellowing.

A bolt of lightning, sharp and blinding.

It hits her, exploding her limp body into a million pieces. They swirl around like a funnel, spinning faster and faster until it’s just a grey mass and it dives into the ocean, swallowed up by the raging waters.

Then everything stops.

The crew all slump down, the spell having been broken as a calm descends around them. The clouds clear, the sea is at peace, and the sun shines upon the ship.

Harry turns, chest rising and falling with his laboured breaths, a broad smile beaming on his face. He drops his sword and it clatters to the deck and he steps toward Louis, bringing his hand up to cup Louis' jaw.

“Hi,” Harry says, nothing but kindness and relief in his eyes.

“Hi yourself,” Louis says and slides his hands under Harry’s coat and around to his lower back, pulling them closer.

“You okay?” 

“Never been better,” Louis says and raises up on his toes as Harry leans down and captures his lips in a passionate kiss. 

There are shouts and catcalls from the boys in the background, and confused murmurs from the crew as they start to emerge from their haze, but all Louis can focus on is the beating of his heart, and all he can feel is Harry. Everywhere. Kissing him, holding him, breathing him in, and Louis never, ever, wants to let him go.

~*~

Louis stands on the wheel platform, leaning back into Harry, their bodies fitting perfectly together, every one of Louis’ curves slotting into place with every dip and angle of Harry’s form. 

Harry’s arms are wound tightly around him, his breath fanning out over the back of Louis' neck, one hand resting over his heart and his hook slid through his belt loop.

They watch quietly as the last of the crew head to shore in the long boat, on their way to the treehouse and a celebratory bonfire that is sure to go until long into the night.

Once the crew had come out from under Minerva’s spell they’d been a bit dazed and confused, having lost so much time with few memories of what had transpired over the last six years.

They’d sailed the ship back to the harbour and anchored close to the beach, everyone pitching in with Harry back at the helm. 

The boys had been naturally wary, but with some encouragement from Harry and Louis, the past had been put behind them and a shared kinship had quickly developed. They’ve all been through a lot and it’s time for new beginnings.

Louis hadn’t missed the closeness that had started to become apparent between Liam and Niall either. Liam’s cheeks had flushed when Louis had thrown him a wink and a knowing smirk, and while he’s definitely keen to see how that progresses, right now he’s far more interested in the man pressed up against him.

The sun is resting on the horizon, a pink and orange glow blanketing the land, the sky dotted with tiny stars as they try to break through, the water shimmering in the last moments before night takes over. 

Harry’s breath tickles at his ear and Louis shivers in its wake, earning a chuckle for his troubles as Harry wraps him up tighter. “Cold, Lou?”

“A little, but you’re good at keeping me warm,” Louis says with a sigh, winding his arms around behind them and clasping his hands at Harry’s lower back.

Harry’s lips find Louis’ neck, his smile imprinted onto his skin, soft and chaste. “You were amazing today. So brave. I was so proud of you.”

Louis brings his hands back to his front and turns in Harry’s hold, gazing up at him from under his eyelashes. “I knew you were in there, I could sense it. I just had to work out how to bring you back to me. You were like Sleeping Beauty, all it took was a kiss,” Louis says with a chuckle.

“Sleeping Beauty?” Harry asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“So much to teach you,” Louis says wistfully.

Harry brings his hand up and caresses Louis’ cheek. “Can we maybe work on that later? We’ve got the ship to ourselves, probably for the night, and I’ve got other plans for you.”

Louis looks up at him coquettishly. “Oh yeah? And what might those be, hmmm? Spot of dinner? Stargazing? Maybe a moonlight stroll along the deck before we retire to separate sleeping quarters?”

Harry growls, long and low, chest rumbling. “You're incorrigible,” he says as he leans in, capturing Louis’ lips in a passionate kiss. He draws him tighter, tilting Louis’ head back and diving in deeply, Louis feeling like his bones are melting into a jelly-like state. It’s like he’s floating and, at the same time, it’s the most grounded he’s ever felt.

Harry pulls back, a smirk appearing on his face, and it’s the last thing Louis registers before Harry is bending down and lifting Louis up, throwing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing, and marching off down the stairs. 

“Oh my god! Put me _down_ you bloody pirate!” Louis screeches through a cackle, pounding at the backs of Harry’s thighs as he stomps across the deck toward the Captain’s cabin.

“Nope!” Harry shouts and slaps Louis on the arse.

Louis squawks indignantly but it doesn’t do anything to impede Harry’s progress, skimming over the boards and up the stairs at the stern of the ship, flinging the door open and slamming it shut behind them.

Harry slings Louis onto the bed, stepping back and ripping off his coat, dropping it to the ground as Louis catches his breath and pushes himself up on his elbows, kicking off his boots and fixing Harry with stern glare.

Harry pauses, fingers on his belt buckle. “Is that supposed to scare me?” He asks, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “You look like a grumpy kitten.”

“Well, I have been known to bite and scratch,” Louis says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and baring his teeth for added effect.

“Lucky for me then,” Harry says with a grin and flips his buckle, pulling the belt taught to free the prong from its hole, sliding the leather out of the belt loops in one swift motion. It clatters to the floor and Louis watches with hooded eyes as Harry releases the strings of his trousers and they pool around his ankles. His legs are just as toned and firm as Louis had thought, a light dusting of hair covering his milky white skin. He toes off his boots and socks and kicks them all across the room, leaving him in only his shirt which is annoyingly hanging down to mid thigh and hiding the parts of him that Louis so desperately wants to see.

Harry knees up on the bed crawling over Louis and hovering above before lowering himself and sealing their lips together once more. It’s hot and heavy and Louis can’t get enough; teeth biting, tongues seeking out more, hips grinding against each other and sending his brain into a tailspin.

Louis suddenly feels like his clothes are choking him, weighing him down. He needs to feel Harry against him, skin on skin, to have Harry’s hand and fingers and tongue roam all over his body, inside and out. There’s something else he wants to feel on his body too, the thing that has been occupying his darkness thoughts and fantasies for the past couple of days.

As if reading Louis’ mind, Harry lifts off and sits back on his heels. Stretching his arm out, he trails his hook down from Louis’ jaw, over his chest, grazing the exposed skin of his stomach where his shirt has ridden up, the cold metal making Louis’ hairs stand on end and a tightness form in his gut.

Harry snags the waistband of his trousers with his hook, shuffling back further and pulling them down as Louis lifts his hips and sucks in a breath.

Harry grins at him devilishly. “You like that?”

Louis huffs out a breath and nods. “It’s definitely a new one for me.”

“Hmmmm…” Harry hums and pulls his trousers the rest of the way off. Louis toes his socks off and goes to remove his shirt, but Harry stops him, his hook snagging in the hem of his shirt. “Uh-ah. You're mine to unwrap.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly and falls back onto the bed, flinging his arms out and looking up at the ceiling. “Have at it then.”

Harry chuckles and moves to straddle Louis’ thighs, hovering above him. “Been dying to get you like this, thought I was going to implode.”

Louis hears the rustle of Harry’s shirt and cranes his neck to watch the show as he deftly undoes his buttons one-handed, not that there’s many. The material falls away and the sight forces Louis to inhale sharply. His imagination hadn’t even been in the ballpark of what he sees before him now; tattoos litter Harry’s body, the hair on his chest thick between his pecs and tapering off to his happy trail, an obscene v-line and finally, the most gorgeous, thick, long cock Louis has ever seen. His mouth waters, wanting nothing more than to wrap his lips around it and feel the weight on his tongue. Louis bites down on his bottom lip, hands balling in fists by his sides as his hole clenches in anticipation of having that thing inside him, pounding into him, wrenching orgasm after orgasm out of him.

Louis is moving before he even realises, reaching out to stroke down Harry’s length with his knuckles. Harry bucks his hips and Louis is so done with the torturously slow pace Harry seems to be intent on going with. “Want that in me,” Louis says firmly as he glances up, Harry’s hungry eyes staring right back at him. “Now.”

“You’re an impatient little thing,” Harry states, running his hook over Louis cock still trapped behind his briefs.

“Nrrgghhh…” Louis groans out and lifts his knees, jostling Harry so he falls forwards, propping himself up on his hand beside Louis’ head.

Harry just smirks and sits back again, sliding the hook up under the hem of Louis’ shirt as Louis sucks his stomach in reflexively.

True to his word, Harry unwraps him, peeling his shirt off, inch by inch, trailing behind with soft kisses over Louis’ heated skin. He explores Louis’ body like it’s something precious, like _Louis_ is something precious. Sliding down the bed, he laves over Louis’ cock, suckling at it through the cotton until it’s soaking and Louis is writhing beneath him, hands planted on the wall behind, muscles trembling. 

It’s nothing like Louis thought it would be. He’s envisioned it being hot and heavy and urgent, passionate, clothes being ripped off, and-

Louis’ thought process is abruptly cut off as Harry swings his leg over and Louis is flipped onto his stomach, the air knocked out of his lungs. Harry shoves his knee between Louis’ legs and he spreads them willingly but clearly that isn’t enough for Harry and he pushes them further apart, Louis’ muscles burning with the stretch.

“This arse. _Fuck_ ,” Harry says as a sharp slap lands on Louis’ cheek, making him jolt and whimper, his cock twitching and hole clenching. “Mmmm… You like that, baby?”

Louis nods furiously as a blush rampages up his neck. “Yeah. Like it a bit rough,” he admits, keen to see where this will go.

“You’re a fucking dream come to life,” Harry growls out. “I’ll give you what you need, don’t worry. I’ll give you everything.”

“Harry,” Louis whines as he feels the cold hook at the top of his crack, tugging his briefs down harshly and exposing his cheeks. He grinds into the bed sheets, a wanton moan escaping his lips, muffled by the pillow.

“Been wanting to get my mouth on this glorious arse so badly,” Harry grits out.

That’s all the warning Louis gets before his briefs are being torn in two by Harry’s hook, the sound of tearing material filling the space as Harry hacks at them angrily like they’re an affront to his very being. Louis pushes his hips up and gets another slap for his troubles, skin tingling in its wake as Harry presses the smooth curve of his hook against his hole sending a bolt of electricity through Louis’ body.

“Oh fuck,” Louis pants out as Harry presses harder, another three slaps landing in quick succession.

Louis barely has time to catch his breath before Harry’s hook is gone, replaced with his tongue, licking and sucking and nipping at his rim. Louis arches his back, chest rising off the bed. He’s burning up from within, pounding on the mattress with his fists, emitting moans and high pitched whines from his throat which seem to egg Harry on, devouring him with his plush lips and insistent tongue. 

“Gonna,” Harry says as he breaks away. “Gonna fuck you so good. _God_. Wanna wreck you and this pretty little hole.”

Louis keens at Harry’s words, his whole body shuddering as he pushes back, seeking out Harry’s mouth again, but he just gets another series of slaps in return, the sound reverberating around the small room like a cracking whip. The last slap lands on his hole and Louis lets out a sob into the sheets, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes with how turned on he is. “ _More_ ,” is all he can manage to get out.

“So greedy,” Harry says as he shifts behind Louis, his touch gone and instantly missed. Louis turns his head to watch Harry as he gets off the bed, squinting his bleary eyes open. His breaths pant out in little puffs as he ogles Harry’s muscled body, his angry looking cock standing to attention, glistening at the tip. Harry roughly pulls open a drawer and retrieves a vial of what Louis assumes is some kind of oil. In the time it takes Louis to blink the wetness from his eyes Harry has returned and slid his hand around and under his hips, dragging him back down to the edge of the bed toward him, up onto his knees and forcing his arse up in the air, presented and on full display. Louis tucks his hands under his chest where it’s raised off the bed and peeks back awkwardly over his shoulder to watch as Harry uses his teeth to yank the stopper from the vial, spitting it across the room.

Of all the things Louis could find arousing right now, _that_ is the thing that makes the heat bloom in his gut and his cock blurt out precome. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Louis groans out, pushing himself up so he’s properly on his hands and knees.

He watches as Harry dribbles the oil down his crack, sticking the open end of the vial in his mouth as he spreads the oil around Louis’ rim. He dips one finger inside, the muscle giving easily as Louis moans at the feeling of Harry gliding up and down his walls, adding a second finger almost immediately, a long, low growl reverberating in Harry’s chest. The stretch is a lot but Harry is clearly a man on a mission, a third finger nudging at Louis entrance making him gasp. Harry scissors his two fingers until the third can sneak in alongside without too much resistance. Louis rocks back as he adjusts, Harry sliding the smooth edge of his hook under Louis’ balls, surrounding them and using the circle of metal to tease them while he rubs at his perenimum with his thumb.

“So tight, baby,” Harry murmurs around the vial still gripped between his teeth as he thrusts in and out of Louis’ heat. “Can’t wait to get inside of you, feel you around me.”

“Fuck. I’m r-ready. Get… get in me,” Louis urges, thighs trembling as Harry works into him.

Harry ignores him, instead, finding his prostate and Louis’ entire body spasms, before relaxing into it and hanging his head low, readying himself for Harry’s cock, the image of it imprinted on his brain.

“So beautiful,” Harry says as he rubs at Louis’ spot relentlessly, adding extra pressure with his thumb from the outside making Louis toes curl. He can feel the sweat bearing at his temples, breathing laboured, eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

He’s afforded a brief reprieve when Harry removes his fingers, the telltale sound of Harry slicking himself up like music to his ears. Oil drips down Louis’ crack and over his stretched rim, Harry pushing some of it inside as the vial clatters to the floor.

The tip of Harry’s cock prods at his entrance, and Louis gasps. He knows how big Harry is, but seeing it, and feeling it, are two entirely different things.

Harry grunts behind him, hand gripping tightly on Louis’ hip to steady him. Louis pushes back into the pressure, meeting Harry’s force in equal measure. “Give it to me,” Louis pants out. “Come on.”

Harry obliges easily, pressing in firmly, the head of his cock easing in past the ring of muscle. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Harry groans. “So tight. Shit, Lou.”

Harry’s hips stutter and he edges in further, bottoming out and filling Louis up until he can feel it everywhere.

Louis can’t suck enough air into his lungs, gasping, head pounding, jaw clenching. “Move,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth. “Fucking _move_.”

Harry grunts and draws back. “Ready?”

Louis lifts his head glances back over his shoulder, glaring daggers at Harry. “Seriously?”

Harry just smirks at him and slams back in, the force of it causing Louis to face plant into the mattress. Harry pulls out again and Louis pushes himself up, shoving back as hard as he can to meet Harry’s next thrust.

“Yeah, that’s it, Lou,” Harry moans out encouragingly.

Louis cock slaps up against his stomach as they build a bruising pace, easily finding a rhythm. With every thrust, Harry hits Louis’ spot dead on like he doesn’t fucking know how to aim anywhere else.

Harry’s a goddamn sex god, and while Louis isn’t surprised, he is very, _very_ grateful; it would’ve been such a shame if that body and swagger and cock were all just for show.

Louis is just trying to match him at this point, doing everything he can to stave off his orgasm a little longer, to stay in the moment and relish the feeling of having Harry fuck into him so relentlessly.

Harry shoves in deep, movements shallow, grinding more than anything as he reaches around for Louis’ aching cock, stripping it furiously with his calloused hand.

Louis’ shoulders drop down onto the bed, knowing he’s not going to last much longer with this onslaught. “Fuck, gonna come. _Fuck_!”

Harry twists his wrist on the next stroke and that's all Louis can take, careening over the edge into oblivion, spilling over Harry’s hand, breath held, shaking with the force of his orgasm. 

Harry grinds into him, chasing his own release, growling and panting behind him like an animal. “God, so close. So close,” he chants, releasing Louis’ cock and gripping tightly onto his hip as he thrusts in and out at a punishing pace, using Louis’ body to reach his own peak.

Louis holds his position as best he can, but he’s boneless, fucked out and going limp, the waves of his orgasm still crashing over him. He falls forward, unable to maintain it any longer, Harry following him down, landing with his elbows on either side of Louis’ rib cage. Harry’s mouth finds Louis’ shoulder and he bites down hard, the pain quickly turning to pleasure and he licks and sucks over the mark.

Harry keeps going, pounding into him now that he’s got more leverage, hitting Louis’ overstimulated prostate over and over again. Louis’ cock is sliding through the come beneath him with every thrust, perking up yet again in interest as Harry mutters a tirade of absolute filth into his ear; all the things he’s going to do with him, for him, to him.

Louis feels a second phase of arousal building rapidly at Harry’s words and his continued onslaught, stamina never waning and he fucks into Louis’ hole.

“Yeah. Yeah, keep going,” Louis pleads, desperation evident in his voice.

Harry pulls out completely and flips Louis over like he’s a rag doll, pulling him to the edge of the bed and flinging his legs up over his shoulders, shoving roughly back inside. His eyes are wild, sweat covering his forehead, and Louis is mesmerized, watching as Harry drives into him like a man possessed.

Louis grips onto the edge of the mattress with all the strength he has left, holding himself in place for Harry to fuck him hard and fast.

“Gonna come again? Give me one more?” Harry asks, breaths ragged, and even though it’s not really a question that needs an answer, Louis nods, arching his back and hooking his feet around Harry’s neck.

Harry thrusts with renewed vigor, arms across Louis’ knees, pulling them in tight against his chest to keep him where he wants him. 

Louis is going out of his mind, the sensations overwhelming him in the best possible way as Harry forges on, barely letting Louis catch his breath. He can already feel his next orgasm building, low and strong in his gut. “Y-yeah. Gonna come again. Fuck. Harder, _please_ ,” Louis begs. 

Harry somehow manages to up the intensity, grabbing onto Louis’ sensitive cock and stroking it in time with his movements. Louis hisses at the contact, gaze fixed on Harry who meets it, eyes boring into Louis’ soul. He can see that Harry is nearly there, jaw sharp from his gritted teeth, brows furrowed, the strain and exertion painted all over his face. 

“I’m gonna- _fuck_! I’m gonna come,” Harry shouts, digging his nail into Louis’ slit and that’s all Louis needs, his second orgasm hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

“Holy shit!” Louis wails as Harry slams in one final time, come filling him up as he shoots over Harry’s hand once more.

“Louis!” Harry cries out, head thrown back, shuddering as he tries to hold himself still, buried deep inside Louis.

Louis can’t process anything but the sheer euphoria surging around his body, vision whiting out, sparks firing throughout his veins. He’s never experienced anything even close to this before, like he’s forever changed, as though his life will be divided in two; before Harry fucked him when he didn’t know what real pleasure was, and after, when he feels like he’ll never be able to get enough of him.

Harry drops Louis’ legs and they fall open, sliding down and wrapping around the back of Harry’s knees. Louis releases his hold on the mattress, fingers stiff from how hard he’s been clinging to it. He opens his eyes and finds Harry gazing down at him, mouth open, expression one of shock and awe.

Louis can’t help the giggle that bubbles up from within, bursting out before he can stop it. “What the fuck?”

“I… I don’t even- I’m… _fuck_ ,” Harry stammers out.

“That was…,” Louis says and scrubs his hands down his face before stretching his arms up over his head. He takes a deep breath and with all the energy he has left he screams at the top of his lungs. “ _Fucking amazing_!”

Harry barks out a laugh and whacks Louis on the arse, which he figures is well deserved. He pulls back slightly, cock slipping out of Louis’ hole and slumps down onto the bed on his back, mirroring Louis’ position. “You're the amazing one. Best sex _ever_.”

Louis holds his hand up for a high five and Harry slaps their hands together, Louis’ come splattering over them both. Not that it matters, they’re already a disgusting mess of come and sweat, but it earns a chuckle from them both.

Louis wipes his hand on the sheets. “Reckon we nailed that.”

“Mmmmmm... reckon you’re right,” Harry agrees, trailing off. “So, you like my hook?”

Louis smirks to himself. “I do, as a matter of fact.” He pushes himself back up the bed, Harry following his lead and they settle on their sides. Louis trails his fingers through Harry’s chest hair. “So, do you think you’d be able to fashion some other... uhm… attachments? Slightly less pointy perhaps?”

Harry’s eyes go wide and then narrow as he smiles devilishly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I could.”

~*~

Something is tickling Louis’ nose. He tries to move away but his muscles feel slow and uncooperative, not yet willing to open his eyes and face the day. He’s still in the drowsy moments after he’s been dragged from his dreams so he pokes out his bottom lip and blows air upwards in an attempt to dislodge whatever it is. He’s unsuccessful.

The source of the offending tickler moves beneath his cheek and that’s enough to have him squinting against the morning light to orientate himself. The room slowly coming into focus as does the pirate he’s sprawled on top of. Harry.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Harry says, voice rough from lack of use and Louis cranes his neck up, Harry’s chest hair—the original reason for him being woken from his slumber—catches on his scruff.

He looks gorgeous in the subdued light that's filtering in through the windows; rugged and handsome and hot as fuck. _That’s my pirate_ , Louis’ brain helpfully provides.

They’d managed two more rounds of the hottest sex Louis has ever experienced—likely the hottest sex that _anyone_ has ever experienced in his humble opinion—before collapsing into a heap of limbs, exhausted but sated.

“Morning, big guy,” Louis says with a smirk.

Harry smiles down at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fucked.”

Harry chuckles, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sorry,” he says with a small shrug.

“I’m not,” Louis states simply as he stretches up, seeking out Harry’s lips and is rewarded by being rolled over, Harry’s weight coming to rest on him they kiss languidly. He could really get used to waking up like this, warm and satisfied with his man by his side. Yes, _his_ man.

As they’d lain in bed the previous evening after a half-hearted attempt at cleaning themselves up, they’d agreed this wouldn’t be a one-night thing. They haven’t worked out all the details just yet, but they’d both admitted they wanted to be together, no matter what. There’s a difficult conversation to be had with Liam once they make their way over to the treehouse, but Louis, while nervous about how it will play out, is confident that he’ll understand Louis’ desire to stay in Neverland and not return to the cafe in the Other World. It’s a big decision, and one Louis hasn’t taken lightly, but even without Harry, he likely would have come to the same conclusion. The Other World has its appeal, but at the end of the day, this is where he belongs. This is his home.

“So,” Harry says and lays one final chaste kiss on Louis’ lips before pulling away to trail more kisses down Louis’ chest. “What do you think happened with Liam and Niall?”

“Why? Angling for a foursome?” Louis smirks and earns himself a well deserved bite to his nipple. “Ouch, you heathen.”

“I mean… they’re both fit…” Harry trails off and Louis knees him in the balls. Harry groans and rolls off him, starfishing on his back.

“Oi. There’ll be none of that. You’re mine now, Captain, and I’m not much for sharing.”

Harry cups his balls in his hand. “We’re really going to have to work on your early morning cuddly side.”

Louis props himself up on his elbow and glares at Harry. “ _Excuse_ me! Pretty sure I’m the one who's going to be walking funny today after having your giant cock up my arse and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion your handprint is still branded on my bum.”

Harry smirks and Louis just rolls his eyes, far too fondly to be of any effect.

“Awwww… come here, baby,” Harry says and pulls Louis on top of him, snogging him senseless yet again. When they finally draw breath, Harry tucks him into his side and kisses the top of his head. “For the record, I’m not into sharing either.”

“Mmmmm…” Louis hums contentedly.

“So… do you think Niall and Liam hooked up already?”

“I’ll bet you a blow job every day for a week that they did,” Louis says cheekily.

Harry chuckles and awww uses Louis’ hip. “I’ll take that bet. Liam’s seems to be the nervous type. He’d probably wanna wait, take it slow.”

“Oh, Harry. My dear, sweet, _oblivious_ , Harry. This is going to be the easiest bet I’ve ever won.”

“Mmmmm… we’ll see. Hungry?”

Louis looks up. “Ravenous.”

Harry pats him on the back as he sits up. “Alright. Let’s get dressed and raid the stores before we head over to shore.”

“Ugh. I don’t want to put my clothes back on. I’ve been wearing the same ones for days. I think they’re about ready to get up and walk away on their own. Maybe we should burn them?”

“I mean, I’m more than happy for you to walk around naked… just didn’t realize you had such a strong exhibitionist streak.”

Louis pushes him off the bed and Harry cackles as he lands on his feet. As he turns, Louis notices the scratch marks down Harry’s back and grins to himself knowing he’s the one that put them there.

“Come on then, I’ll find you something to wear.”

Louis sits up, sheets pooling at his waist. “I’m not wearing your pirate clothes!”

Harry just smiles back at him. “Sure you are,” he says and opens a drawer, fishing around before throwing a pair of black breeches and a white shirt at him. Louis grabs them and holds them to his chest, the material soft to the touch and with Harry’s scent all over them.

“Fine,” Louis huffs, pretending to be put out, when really he’s anything but. Truth be told, he kind of likes the idea of wearing Harry’s things, not that he’d ever tell him that, of course. 

Louis hauls himself out of bed, wincing at the discomfort in his arse, mild as it might be. Harry doesn’t miss it and Louis wipes the smug off his face by throwing a boot at his head. Harry retaliates by pinning Louis up against the wall and jerking them both off together in his stupidly big hand.

They finally leave the cabin and head down to the galley to raid the stores, finding some bread and bananas which they practically inhale up on deck before taking off in the dinghy for the shore.

The morning is almost gone by the time they drag the boat up onto the sand and make their way along the track up the treehouse and the scene they’re met with is about what they’d expected; pirates and Lost Boys sitting and laying around the fire, looking worse for wear after what must’ve been a long and rowdy celebration. Harry and Louis earn some grunts of acknowledgement and more than a few winks and nods upon arrival when some of the slightly less comatose among them notice their joined hands. Louis just shoots them down with death stares and they back off easily.

Liam is nowhere to be seen and interestingly, neither is Niall, so Louis calls out to Zayn. “Where’s Liam?”

Zayn groans and rolls onto his side. “Up in the treehouse.”

“Where’s Niall?” Louis asks.

Zayn’s face brims with a devilish smirk. “Up in the treehouse.”

Harry snickers and Louis spins around, walking backwards. “Laugh it up, mate. If they hooked up you owe me blow jobs every day for a week,” he says poking Harry in the chest.

“Like that's a chore,” Harry says, slapping Louis on the arse as he turns and they trudge up the path leaving the mess of boys behind them.

Louis can’t hear any noise coming from the treehouse as they approach, so they ease up quietly, peeking their heads around the open doorway. The sight that they’re met with is one he could do without having seared on his brain for all eternity but then he remembers the bet.

“Ha! I win!” Louis shouts, elbowing Harry in the stomach, causing him to double over with a heavy exhale.

Liam groans and stretches out his legs, his very naked legs, that are attached to his very naked body, which is currently entwined with Niall’s equally naked body; cocks and balls and everything else on full display.

Louis strides into the open room and picks up the blanket from the floor, chucking it over them both. “Cover yourselves up, for god's sake, no one wants to see that.”

“Fuck off, Lou,” Niall grumps and burrows into Liam’s side. “I’m dead.”

“You’re not dead. Shut up,” Louis chides as he wanders around the room grabbing Niall’s clothes from their various spots and throwing them at him. “But I do need to talk to Liam, so it’s time to make yourself scarce.”

“I hate you,” Niall mumbles but slides out of bed anyway. “I take it you two fucked each other’s brains out then?”

“We had a lovely evening, thank you very much, _Niall_ ,” Harry chimes in from where he’s plonked himself at the table.

“So that’s a yes?” Liam asks, sitting up and stretching out his back.

“You don’t get to judge, buddy,” Louis says as he sits down across from Harry, pointing accusingly at Liam. “Seems you’ve had a _lovely evening_ yourself.”

Liam just smiles dopily at him, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Loveliest evening I’ve had in a long while.”

Niall stops with one leg in his shorts and gazes lovingly at Liam. Louis snorts out a laugh and Niall refocuses. “Come on, Harry,” Niall says, pulling up his shorts and clapping his hands together. “Let’s go and make ourselves useful down but the fire and see if we can scrounge up something to eat. These two need to _talk_ apparently.”

Harry glances over to Louis, brows furrowed. “Okay?” Louis nods in reply and Harry gets to his feet, following Niall to the doorway.

“We’ll be down there soon,” Louis says to their backs and with a wave over their shoulders from them both, they’re gone.

“So… you and Harry?” Liam asks with a smirk.

“So… you and Niall?” Louis parrots back at him, grinning maniacally. Liam’s blush intensifies and really, it’s quite adorable. “Happy for you, mate,” he says genuinely.

“You too, Lou. Is it serious?”

“Yeah. Afraid so. Best night of my life, if I’m being honest.”

Liam chuckles. “Same. _God_. He’s amazing, Lou. Amazing!” Liam flings himself back down on the bed arms raised as he fist pumps in the air.

Louis gets up and runs at the bed, launching himself on top of Liam and tickling him mercilessly. Liam pushes him off and sits up, both men laughing until their stomachs hurt.

“Can you believe it?” Liam asks when they finally catch their breath.

Louis leans back against the wall, legs over the top of Liam’s. “What?”

“ _Them_ ,” he says, thumbing towards the doorway through which Harry and Niall had left.

“Nope. It’s wild, isn’t it?”

“Fuck yeah,” Liam says with a sigh. 

They sit in silence for a while, the enormity of everything sinking in before Louis eventually musters up the courage to start the real conversation. “I uhm-“

“You’re staying, aren't you,” Liam says, cutting him off, phrasing it more as a statement than a question.

Louis raises his gaze and smiles. “Yeah. I am. I just.. this is my home, you know? The Other World has been great, and I truly can’t thank you enough for everything. You were so good to me when I arrived out of nowhere, and gave me a job and somewhere to live so I could get my feet under me. But this is where I belong. And now with Harry, it’s-“

“I get it, Lou. It’s okay. Really,” Liam says softly, taking Louis’ hands in his. “I completely understand. And, uhm, it seems as though I might have a new visitor, for a while anyways.”

Louis tilts his head and grins. “Oh yeah?”

“Now that Minerva is gone and the spell has been lifted, Niall can go back and forth whenever he likes and we were talking last night and…”

“ _Mate_. That’s awesome news! He’s going back with you?”

Liam nods, a bright smile beaming across his face. “Yeah. Just for a bit, maybe, I dunno. Guess we’ll see how it goes.”

Louis shuffles over and pulls Liam into a tight hug. “Really happy for you,” he says into Liam’s neck.

“You too. Harry’s wonderful,” Liam says as he pulls back.

“So we’re both lucky bastards.”

“Seems so,” Liam says with a chuckle. “God, I was so nervous to talk to you about this. Figured you’d be wanting to stay, but thought you might be pissed I was stealing Niall from you.”

“Same here, with the nerves, I mean. Thought you’d be upset I wasn’t coming back. You’ll visit though, right?”

“Of course! Won’t be able to keep me away. This place is fucking amazing.”

“Yeah. Kinda fond of it myself. Come on,” Louis says as he scoots off the bed. “Our men are waiting for us.”

Liam snorts out a laugh. “Our men. Alright. Let’s go tell them we’re all sorted.”

“Maybe put on some clothes first, though. I’ve seen quite enough cocks today,” Louis says as he picks up Liam’s pants and chucks them at his head.

Louis heads down to the fire, with a fully clothed and smiling Liam by his side, and right into the expectant arms of his man. 

“All good?” Harry asks, nuzzling into Louis' hair.

“Perfect,” Louis replies and Harry spins him around in his arms. He fills Harry in on his and Liam’s conversation as they watch Liam doing the same on the other side of the fire. Niall’s broad smile warms Louis’ heart and he struggles to think of a time when he’s felt this happy and at peace with the world.

Harry kisses his neck, a shiver running through Louis’ body and he isn’t sure when that’s going to wane, maybe it never will, and Louis is completely fine with that. “I talked to Zayn,” Harry murmurs into his skin. 

“Yeah? How’d it go?”

“He’s excited. The crew less so, but they’re a grumpy lot who couldn’t organize themselves if their hides depended on it, so they saw sense in the end,” Harry says, all commanding and sure of himself and really Louis shouldn’t find it as sexy as he does.

It’s a brilliant solution. Zayn’s always wanted to spread his wings and seek out adventure and this will be the perfect opportunity; replacing Harry as the Captain of the Jolly Roger.

Louis and Harry had talked long into the night between rounds of mind blowing sex, lazing about in Harry’s bed, and coming down from their highs wrapped in each other’s arms as they made plans for the future. Even though Louis was prepared to take to the sea and immerse himself in Harry’s way of life, it wasn’t what Harry had wanted. He’s had enough of that for now, desiring instead to settle into a more relaxed life on land with Louis; to build something together, to put down roots.

“I’m glad,” Louis offers, sighing happily wrapped up in Harry’s strong arms and watching as the crew ready themselves to head back to the ship.

“Shawn and Steve are going as well. They’re keen for a taste of the pirate life,” Harry says with a small chuckle, jostling Louis against his chest.

“Mmmmm… I can see that. Good for them.”

They bid farewell to the boys and the crew and start cleaning up the disaster that had been created the night before. Harry and Liam head off into the forest with the other boys to replenish their firewood stack while Louis and Niall clean up around camp. 

Louis comes up alongside Niall who is staring off into the distance, watching Liam and Harry haul a huge log out of the scrub. He nudges Niall with his hip. “You're whipped already.”

“Bugger off,” Niall replies and nudges him back.

“You know what they say about relationships forming under dramatic circumstances,” Louis says, throwing Niall’s words from a couple of days ago back at him.

Niall shoots him a pointed glare, clearly picking up on the reference. “You,” he says, poking him in the chest. “Can fuck right off, mate.”

“Just saying!” Louis says and swats his hand away.

Niall rolls his eyes before his expression morphs into something more wistful as he turns to watch Harry and Liam working together, hauling the huge log into position around the fire pit. “He’s really quite something, isn’t he?”

Niall’s question could easily apply to either man and Louis' response is definitely for both of them. “Yeah, he is. He really is.”

“You got your magic back yet?”

Louis sighs and shakes his head. He’d tried a few times after the battle and then again this morning, but to no avail, his feet had stayed firmly on the ground. “Nah, nothing yet. Maybe it won’t come back at all.”

Niall wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him tightly. “Sorry, buddy. Gotta keep trying though, don’t give up, yeah?”

Louis nods. “I won’t. But if it doesn’t, then so be it. I’ve been fine without it for five years. I’m glad yours is back though,” Louis says and turns to smile at Niall. “Means you and Liam will be able to come back to visit loads.”

“Yeah, for sure. And I can bring you and Harry out to visit us too. Now that I’m older and can control it all better, not like when we were kids. Do you remember that time we ended up in the middle of nowhere and everything was covered in ice and snow? We didn’t even know what the fuck it was?”

“God. That was _miserable_ ,” Louis whines but it morphs quickly into a chuckle. “Can you imagine Harry in the Other World? He’s gonna flip out.”

“Good times ahead,” Niall says and gives Louis’ shoulder a quick squeeze. “Alright, I’m gonna head over to the village for supplies. Will you be okay finishing up here?”

“Yeah. All good,” Louis says and waves him away.

Niall walks off, whistling as he goes but then he stops and turns around. “Hey. Have you tried your pipes?”

Louis looks up. “What?”

“Didn’t you work out you could fly after you started playing your pipes?”

“Oh! Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Louis says, flashbacks from the day he’d discovered his magic washing over him. It’d been a long day of play-fighting and running amok through the forest when he happened upon some long, thin stalks of bamboo on the beach. He’d picked up one and blown through the end, loving the sound that came out. He’d gathered them up and taken them back to the treehouse, working away and making different lengths for different notes. He’d been sitting in the fork of a tree playing his pipes, legs hanging down on either side of a high branch and enjoying the sunset when he first felt it. Just a tingle in his toes that he’d quickly dismissed, then his fingertips, then his ears, the nape of his neck, hairs standing up on his arms like he had an additional life force surging through his veins. A sharp bolt of energy had shocked him and he’d lost his balance, falling from the tree and on his way to a messy, and no doubt painful, landing. He’d closed his eyes and an image of a flying bird had flashed behind his eyelids. The landing never came. He’d squinted his eyes open to find that he was hovering, about a foot from the ground. Panicked he’d screamed out and dropped down onto his feet. That had been how it started and continued right up until Minerva had cast her spell and banished him to the Other World.

“Just a thought,” Niall says with a shrug and spins around, making his way toward the track. 

“I’ll try that later. Thanks!” Louis shouts at Niall’s retreating form, earning a wave in response.

Louis keeps busy until evening falls, not seeking out his pipes for reasons he can’t quite fathom. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t want to try and then be disappointed if it doesn’t work. While he might’ve told Niall he was okay without his ability to fly, deep down he misses it terribly. The freedom of soaring above the ground, up with the birds in the treetops and open skies, is a hard thing to have had and lost. 

They all gather around the fire to eat and settle in for a few ales after a long day. Louis sits comfortably tucked into Harry’s side, watching the sparks drifting up into the indigo sky. Liam and Niall will be leaving soon and it makes Louis’ heart clench, missing them before they’re gone, a hint of sadness bubbling under his skin because he won’t be going back with them. It’s an odd feeling because he knows he wants to stay in Neverland with Harry, but he can’t help but think fondly of his old life; the cafe and the small community that had welcomed him with open arms when he had no one.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Harry asks, bringing Louis back to the present.

“Nothing. Just thinking about how I’m going to miss Liam and Niall when they go.”

Harry shifts Louis around and lifts him onto his lap, his legs straddling Harry’s strong thighs. “Hey,” Harry says, looking deeply into his eyes, the golden flecks glowing in the firelight. “It’ll be fine. I know you’re going to miss them, but they’ll be back for a visit soon enough.”

Louis glances down and reaches out, pulling one of Harry’s necklaces away from his body and twirling the silver chain in his fingers. “I know. It’s silly.”

“It isn’t, though. It’s been a lot of upheaval, these past few days. Only natural that you’d want to keep your family close for a little while longer.”

Louis gazes back up, amazed at how this man—who he’s only really known for such a short time—can read him like an open book. “You know. For a pirate, you’re awfully wise.”

Harry chuckles and leans forward, sealing their lips together. Louis goes easily, always so easily. He sinks into the kiss, sliding his fingers through Harry’s chest hair and up over his collarbones, threading his fingers at the back of his neck. They kiss slowly, unhurried. Harry pulls him in closer, slotting Louis’ bum over his cock as they shift against each other. It could naturally lead to more, but neither of them really want that right now, there’s plenty of time for that later. A lifetime, in fact.

Louis pulls away and knees up, turning around and sitting himself between Harry’s legs, his back to Harry’s chest.

Harry tilts Louis’ head to the side and kisses up his neck. “Will you play for me?” Harry asks, barely more than a whisper, and reaches around, presenting Louis with his pipes like he has materialized them out of thin air. “I brought them down from the treehouse for you, in case you felt like it.”

Louis smiles and takes the pipes from Harry’s grasp. He’d been nervous before, but now, encompassed by Harry’s body, safe and warm in his arms, all the trepidation he’d been feeling just melts away. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He brings the pipes to his lips and starts to play, just a random string of notes, no real melody to it, and a sense of calm washes over him as he settles into a familiar tune. He glances up to find Liam and Niall and the other boys watching him, nodding along to the beat. 

Harry goes back to kissing his neck, little nips and licks, lips trailing over his skin. He plays for a while, different songs that he’s made up over the years, and some he’d heard when he was in the Other World. 

Then he feels it. Just the tiniest tingle in his fingertips at first, the merest of hints. Then it’s in his toes, up his spine, his chin, the tip of his nose. It radiates throughout his body, pulsing in his veins, and into his very soul. It’s foreign and so familiar at the same time.

Louis lifts off the ground, Harry gasping in shock behind him as Louis straightens out, hovering in place, no more than a foot in the air. Louis spins around on time to see Harry scrambling to his feet. “Oh my god. Lou! You're flying!”

Louis beams down at him. “I’m flying!”

The other boys jump up, stumbling over crates and logs as they run over, shouts and whistles ringing out in the still night. Louis can feel the magic flowing through him and he itches to soar up into the sky, to tumble and dive, to touch the heavens and skim the waves.

“Go,” Harry says from beneath him, reaching out to take his pipes, a broad smile on his beautiful face. “Fly, baby.”

Louis hands them over and Harry takes his hand, kissing his knuckles and grinning up at him. He blows Harry a kiss and then he’s off, shooting up past the canopy toward the stars.

It’s just like he remembers, the wind in his hair, muscles clenching and relaxing as he twists and turns, arms out wide, gliding up high and dropping low down to trail his fingers through the water of the harbour. 

He swoops down on the Jolly Roger, Zayn and the rest of the crew on deck enjoying their ales, calling to them as he surges past, a chorus of cheers ringing out as he leaves them in his wake.

He feels so alive, so free.

The fire of the campsite comes back into view and he descends gracefully, dropping down a few feet away from Harry with an easy landing.

Harry scoops him up and twirls them around. “How was it?”

“Amazing! Fuck. I didn’t think- I was worried-“

“I know, baby,” Harry says as he sets Louis down, kissing him firmly. “I’m so happy for you.”

Louis raises up on his tip toes and whispers into Harry’s ear. “Take me to bed.”

Harry growls and bends down, picking Louis up and throwing him over his shoulder. Apparently, this is going to be a thing and Louis thinks that's just fine with him.

They make their way up to the treehouse, hoots and hollers from the boys fading into the background. Harry drops him to his feet halfway up the stairs and Louis takes off. Shrieking in delight as Harry’s thunderous footsteps pound behind him.

He’s so happy he could burst with the sheer amount of joy that’s filling his heart. He’s home, he has his magic back, and his pirate is about to give him the dicking of his life. He has everything he could possibly need and so much more than he ever dared dream.


	4. Epilogue

_Three years later..._

The sound of pipes filter in around the edges of Harry’s consciousness, gently bringing him out of his slumber. It’s a familiar feeling, waking up with a smile on his face and a warmth in his chest.

He blinks his eyes open and rolls onto his side, finding Louis sitting across the room on the window ledge. One leg is draped on either side, pipes up at his lips, bare chest reflecting the morning’s rays, and a golden crown of leaves cascading down from his head onto the caramel skin of his back. He’s absolutely stunning and, like most mornings, Harry has a desperate need to pinch himself just to be sure that this is really his life. 

Harry stays quiet though, reveling in being able to watch Louis like this so openly. He lets his mind track back over the last few years, filled with so many mornings just like this, slow and simple, comfortable and familiar. His life now bears little resemblance to his time as Captain Hook, the bad memories fading further into the distance with every dawn and being pushed to the far corners of his mind by new ones filled with joy and love and light.

Louis has taught him so much; that there is goodness in the world, that he deserves to be happy, and that love can be all-consuming.

There are times when he misses waking up on the ocean, of course, the soft rocking motion cradling him as he welcomed each new day. But those thoughts are fleeting and quickly replaced by how lucky he feels to have his new life with his piper by his side.

At first it had been an adjustment, life away from the sea, but he’s never entertained the thought of going back even for a moment. 

Harry rubs at his stump, phantom sparks where his fingers used to be and his mind replays the series of events that led to that moment. He thinks about all the time he lost when he and the crew were under Minerva’s evil spell, doing her bidding and that of the sea gods. Thankfully, with her demise, the sea gods have been dormant and Harry hopes they will stay that way forever.

He knows it’s not wise to dwell on the past, of things that could’ve been, and those that shouldn’t. When he gets that furrow between his brow, buried deep in thought, Louis just kisses it away and reminds him that he can’t change the past and without it, they wouldn’t be here now. Somehow Louis always knows just how to ease Harry’s pain and release him from his guilt.

Harry is such a fool for Louis, so in love sometimes it feels like his heart will burst. The man who took his hand, now has his heart, and while it might’ve seemed like a high price to pay at the time, it all led them here, and Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

At the start, Harry hadn’t really known what to do with his time, no longer responsible for a fully crewed ship and all that it required. He’d decided to put the carpentry skills he’d learned at sea to good use, making improvements to the treehouses and building new ones. Niall and Liam now have one to use during their frequent visits and there’s a bunkhouse for the crew of the Jolly Roger when they return to shore.

He’d gone on a few trips to the Other World as well, amazed by what he saw and heard and tasted with Louis acting as the perfect guide. But ultimately, he’d found it overwhelming and decided it just wasn’t for him; Neverland is where he wants to be.

But seeing Liam’s cafe had sparked memories of his family's bakery, and his hopes to one day have a bakery of his own, before his world was upended. He spent months building the shop and now spends his days baking bread and pastries. It’s not a full-time thing, just a few days a week mostly, but the work is rewarding and he loves being able to greet the villagers as they come and go.

Liam had given him culinary pointers when he and Niall visited every other week and Louis had quickly appointed himself the official taste-tester for Harry’s various creations. He can often be found sitting on the edge of the counter playing his pipes or chatting away happily as Harry works. Louis had also fashioned him a sign from driftwood to hang out front: _The Pastry Pirate_. It’s fitting really, a name that represents his past and present, and hopefully his future too. 

Harry glances down at the mandolin that’s leaning up against the wall beside the window where Louis is sitting. It had been a gift from Zayn on one of their many returns trips and it’s just like the one Harry’s father used to play by the fireside in their small home behind the bakery. Now he and Louis play together, evenings spent in front of the fire, side by side, as Harry learns to play the beautiful instrument. It’s going to take time to master the strings, but Louis is always patient with him, encouraging and crafting tunes they can play together.

Zayn, as it turned out, was made for life on the high seas and commands his crew with a firm but kind hand. Their reputation precedes them everywhere they go, not to be trifled with unless you’d like to see your ship end up at the bottom of the ocean. They’re not the cruelest or fiercest by any means, but they’re fast and skilled, earning respect from all they encounter.

“You’re staring again, you creep,” Louis says, startling Harry from his thoughts. 

Harry’s breath is sucked from his lungs by Louis’ ethereal beauty, bathed in the morning glow of the sun’s rays. He could get lost in those crystal blue eyes, the window to Louis’ soul and holding the answers to every question Harry could ever speak, and many more that he doesn’t utter out loud. 

“M’not a creep. You’re just too gorgeous. Can’t take my eyes off you,” Harry says and doesn’t miss the pink blush that blooms on Louis’ cheeks. He lifts the covers and beckons Louis to join him with a smile and a tilt of his head.

Louis swings his leg over the window sill and stands, removing his golden leaf crown and setting it down with his pipes on the table. He pads over and slides into bed facing Harry, laying on Harry’s outstretched arm. “Morning, big guy,” Louis says, pecking a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips, tasting like everything good in the world.

“Morning, sunshine,” Harry says as he pulls away.

“Did you wanna go for a sail today?” Louis asks, sliding his leg up and over Harry’s thigh.

It’s something Harry adores, sailing with Louis. He’s been teaching him for the last few months after Louis had mentioned wanting to learn. They’ve only got a small boat for now, but Zayn is on the lookout for something larger for them that will be more suitable for the longer journeys they want to take.

“Mmmmm… that’d be nice,” Harry murmurs, trailing his hand up Louis’ back.

“Tell me again about the places you’re gonna take me,” Louis says softly, gazing up into Harry’s eyes.

“I wanna show you everything, all the places I’ve been, all the things I’ve seen. The Vashda Plains, the Hanging Willows, the Peaks of Burmuse, Claret Falls, Dead Scrolls Canyon, Treasures Mark, all of it. I’m gonna share it all with you.”

“I’d really like that,” Louis says and tucks himself under Harry’s chin, snuggling in close.

There are so many adventures he’s yet to have, but one thing Harry’s certain of is that Louis is the love of this life, and with him by his side, every day is an adventure. He is his present, his future, and everything that will come after. His Pan, his Louis, his piper.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, a kudos or comment or both would be lovely xx
> 
> Prompt 201: Hook AU with Louis as Peter Pan who leaves Neverland but has to return years later when Captain Hook, aka Harry, goes mad and wreaks havoc on the island. Possible ABO?? Definitely enemies to lovers.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ jacaranda-bloom ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/) and if you’d like to reblog my [ Tumblr fic post ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/post/640772026135625728/the-pirate-and-the-piper-by-jacaranda-bloom) that would be lovely!
> 
> PS If you'd like to be notified when I post other stories, you can subscribe [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacaranda_bloom/).


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